Closed Break
by save changes to normal
Summary: A belated Thanksgiving story. The story of how Ben and Riley first met, which happens to be earlier than many may think. AUish.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Kinda. Little tardy, I know. But hey, that's life. You don't need to have read any of my stories to get this. I promise. This is just a for fun thing. Although, I guess everything is a for fun thing here. Right. So anyway, on with the disclaiming.

Disclaimer: None be mine.

* * *

"This. Is all. Your. Fault."

"Psh. Yeah? How?"

"You so did that on purpose."

"How could I have possibly done that on purpose? Riley, you can't blame me for something I had no control over."

"Oh, but I can. I don't know how you did it, Ben, but somehow, some way, you planned that. It was your idea for me to carry the cranberry sauce, which I hate by the way. As unnatural a concoction as I've ever heard of. And it was your idea for me to go first."

"It was not my idea for you to go first. You didn't want to carry the turkey--or anything else--so as soon as I placed the cranberry sauce, monstrously heavy burden as it is--was--in your hands, you took off."

"He does have a point there, Riley."

"Traitor."

The front door opened, and Patrick stood there, looking the group over. "Abigail. Son. Riley. I'm assuming that's not blood." The elder Gates was referring to the reddish sticky stuff coating the front of Riley Poole's sweater.

Riley was about two steps away from pouting. He sent a glare toward Ben. "Oh, there may yet be blood."

Ben tried to explain, "We had a little mishap on the way in."

"It wasn't a mishap. It was sabotage," Riley insisted.

Tired of her boys bickering, though more than a little amused, Abigail Gates cut in. "Riley slipped on a patch of ice. Ben laughed. Riley's mad. At Ben and possibly all of nature. Hope you have some extra cranberry sauce." She placed a bowl of dinner rolls in Patrick's hands and kissed him on the cheek as he moved aside to let the three of them in. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Same to you, my dear. Riley," the older man didn't even try to hide his smile. "You can probably find an extra shirt in the bedroom. You know where everything is, right?"

"Yes. You know what? Fine. All of you. Go ahead and laugh. I could've broken my spine or something. Not to mention how crazy it is for there to be snow on the ground at this point. There's a reason nobody sings 'I'm dreaming of a white Thanksgiving,' you know. So, yes. Laugh, while I go peel off this sweater which is no doubt irreparably damaged by the one Thanksgiving dish I wouldn't eat if my life depended on it. And this sweater wasn't cheap, you know." He skulked off toward the bedroom.

"Unlike a certain computer geek we happen to know…" Ben muttered, making sure he was heard by a certain computer geek he happened to know…

"Highly trained computer specialist!" Came the very loud, very indignant reply. "And I'm not cheap!"

"Those two never stop," Patrick grinned and shook his head as he went around the kitchen, scooping mashed potatoes and corn and green beans into their respective serving dishes.

Abi was already setting the table. "Never. Actually, since I've had to live with the two of them, I think I've developed an immunity to Tylenol."

The older man chuckled. Ben was less than amused. He set the turkey on the counter. "Come on. That's all him."

"You egg him on."

"When?"

"They're impossible because they both have to have the last word. Which is impossible, hence…the headaches." Abigail smiled smartly at him, though her words were directed toward Patrick.

"Oh, believe me. They've given me my share of headaches."

"Okay, maybe I do goad him on. A little. But that's only because he makes it so darn easy. And besides, it's good for him."

Abi sent him a funny look. "Good for him. Really? Please explain."

Before Ben could answer, Riley came stomping back out of the bedroom wearing an MIT sweatshirt that fairly swallowed him. He was still trying to look mad, but it wasn't working as well as it usually did. "Anybody else getting a weird sort of déjà vu?"

Ben and Patrick shared a smile that went right over Abigail's head. "You look great, kiddo. Food's ready," Patrick said.

"And by the way, no one missed the fact that you magically appeared just in time for everything to be ready," Ben said.

Riley smirked. "I do have great timing."

"All right, all right. Let's say grace." They bowed their heads as Patrick said a blessing for the food and sent up thanks for their close if dysfunctional little family.

"Amen. Oh, wait, Dad, you forgot to thank God that Riley didn't break his spine."

With eyes glaring mutinously at Ben, Riley held up one hand, and said lowly, "Abi, pass me the mashed potatoes."

"You start a food fight at this table, Riley Poole, I'll make sure you don't have a whole lot to be thankful for," Patrick cut in as Abi hid a smile behind her napkin.

Riley rolled his eyes, disappointed at being preempted. "Yes, _Dad._" He looked down and picked at his turkey so no one would see the shy smile that always managed to escape when he made that kind of joke. That didn't stop the three other people from noticing, though. They knew to watch for it. Riley looked up in time to see the silent, collective, _awwww_, and he pulled a face. "What?"

"Okay, that was definitely some déjà vu," Ben said, grinning at his dad as Riley gave a huge sigh and rolled his eyes again.

Abi was looking back and forth among the three men. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Just remembering the first time I met this strapping young man," Patrick said, pointing a fork in Riley's direction.

"I thought I was there when you first met Riley."

"When? The night the three of you showed up on my porch? No, that's not when I met him. It was a few years earlier than that."

Abigail leaned forward in her seat, intrigued and a little put out that she didn't already know this. "Wait. You're telling me you two have known each other for years? Ben, I thought you told me you rescued him from some 'windowless cubicle' and dragged him off to hunt down the treasure with you."

Ben shrugged. "I did. That's what happened. Why would I pick some random guy out of some office? No, we knew each other before that. A few years before that."

She looked over at Riley who shrugged and glanced down at his sweatshirt. "Go Beavers."

Her eyes widened. "MIT? You met at MIT? Riley, I didn't even know you went to MIT."

He blinked. "Oh, did I not mention it? Huh. Well…I went to MIT, Abs."

"Okay, I want the full story. Right now. How did the three of you meet?"

"Well, I'd say Ben and Patrick met fairly early on…"

"You know what I mean. I can't believe you never told me you two went to school together." She turned accusing eyes toward her husband.

Ben held his hands up in surrender. "It never came up." She just looked at him. "You want to hear the whole thing right now?"

"It's probably better than the Pilgrim schpiel you guys do _every_ _year_…" Riley couldn't help but interject.

Ben pointed a finger at him. "It's not a schpiel. It's history…"

"Well, I want to hear a little bit of our _family's _history," she insisted.

"I'll tell you how it happened, Abigail," Patrick said, leaning back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach like Ben had seen about ten thousand times before. Story teller mode. "I've heard this story enough times and in enough different versions to give you the gist, I think."

Ben held in a sigh, sharing a look with Riley. "This should be good."

"Well, basically, the two met up when Riley was a Freshman. Ben was a third year, going back to get his degree in, what was it? Mechanical engineering. He was a commuter, though, had an apartment off-campus. From what I've been told, the circumstances of their meeting were roughly simple. Riley got himself in hot water, which set Ben off, which was how they got expelled, which is why they ended up on my porch for Thanksgiving."

The rather loud protests from both MIT alumni drowned out Abigail's gasp at the word "expelled."

"That's not what happened, Dad."

"Not even close. And who says hot water?"

"Wait, wait, wait. Let me just get one thing straight. You two were _expelled?_"

"No," they said at the same time.

Ben went on, "Dad, you know that's not how it happened."

"Did I get it wrong? Well, I must be confused. If you can tell it better, by all means, the floor is yours." A silent wink toward Abi went unnoticed by the younger Gates.

"All right fine. I will tell it better," Ben said, unconsciously mimicking his father's storyteller pose.

Riley sat back in his own chair, wrapping his arms around himself, feeling the warm soft fabric engulf him. He shook his head. "Man, sometimes I hate history."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own MIT or anything MIT related. I don't even have a sweatshirt. Never been there, so everything here about that school written here is either made up by me or something I probably picked up off wikipedia which may or may not be true. So if you go to MIT, don't hate me for getting stuff wrong. And if you own MIT, don't sue me. I think you guys are cool. And this story's just for fun's sake.

* * *

_Ben_

I was actually walking back to my car after my last class of the day. It was maybe four weeks into the semester, so the workload was basically evening off as the professors felt they had already proved how ridiculously tough they could be. It was a Thursday, and I was looking forward to an uneventful evening of pounding out a six page paper, then sitting back and relaxing. So when I saw some punk kid with a coat hanger trying to break into my car, it sort of put a damper on my mood.

"Hey!"

The kid spun around, the wire from the hanger still stuck in the door, and he gave me this wide-eyed, fearful look that stayed there as he opened his mouth. "Um, this actually isn't what it looks like…"

That was all he managed to get out before I reached him, caught him by the front of the shirt and pushed him back against the door. Kid was short, skinny, and scared, and I pressed my advantage. "I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you into campus security right now."

His eyes got impossibly wider and he cleared his throat. "Oh, I've got a great reason," he told me, trying ineffectually to pry my hand off his shirt.

"Really? I would love to hear it."

"Did you lock your car on your way in this morning, Mister…" his eyes turned to look at the parking sticker on the window, "Commuter Number 2305?"

"I…" I didn't. I hadn't locked my car. I rarely did. It was a really bad habit, but when it's 7:53 and you're rushing to get to an 8:00 class before the doors close, there are some things you just don't think about. But, if I hadn't locked my car that morning, how the heck was it locked…

He must've seen the look on my face because he nodded while he spoke. "You should really lock your car. Like, you _really _should."

I blinked. "So…what are you doing?"

"My keys are in your car."

"Beg pardon?"

"They're in your car. And your car is locked now. Hilarious, right? Can you let go of me? I think you're starting to cut off my air supply, and if I die here, like this, you'll probably get charged with manslaughter or something. So I think it'd be best for both of us, if you just… " I let him go. He let out a huge breath and straightened his shirt. "Thank you."

I looked in the driver's side window. Sure enough, there was a Ninja Turtles key chain with a single key attached sitting there on the seat. "How did your keys get in my car?" I demanded.

He pursed his lips with a very exasperated sigh. "My roommate. It was a stupid prank. I wouldn't even have bothered, but my dorm key is on there, and if I lose it I lose my deposit. I didn't scratch your car, though. I was really careful."

I nodded in acknowledgement of the great care he took while trying to break into my car. But I believed him. Heaven help me, I believed him. Despite his casual tone, his eyes were still as wide as dinner plates and staring straight into mine. Plus, he looked ready to bolt if I moved to grab him again, key deposit or no. He didn't look guilty scared. He looked…this-guy-could-probably-kill-me scared. I pulled the hanger out and handed it to him. He accepted it with a sheepish smile and watched me unlock the door and retrieve his key. "There you go."

He looked relieved. "Thanks. And…sorry. Won't happen again. I mean, the odds of it happening again are…not good odds. So…yeah. I hope it won't happen again."

I smiled despite myself. The guy was that flustered. "It's okay. Just, um, don't let your roommate near your key again."

He gave a short, uncomfortable smile. "Yeah. So…take it easy. You'll never see me again. Except…in Gilbert's class. I think. You're in there, right?"

I frowned. "That class has ballpark two hundred people. You remembered me?"

"I can't pay attention to that guy. He talks like Ben Stein. Amazing the things you notice while sitting in a room for an hour and a half not listening."

I had to give him credit for that. The guy did sound like Ben Stein. "Okay, then I guess I'll see you in class…"

"Riley Poole."

"I'll see you in class, Riley Poole."

"Same to you…Commuter 2305."

That made me grin. "Ben Gates."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gates. I'll try not to break into your car anymore unless I really, really need it for something."

I cringed at the Mister. Good grief. Going to college made me feel disgustingly old. I had to have been fifteen years older than this kid. "Like a trip to the hospital?" I asked, smiling so he'd know I was kidding.

"Oh. I was thinking like a snow cone."

I laughed. "See you."

He waved and turned to go as I slid behind the wheel. A smile quirking my lips, I pulled out. I liked that kid. Maybe this semester wouldn't turn out as unbearably boring as it started. I didn't know at the time exactly how right I was.

NTNTNTNTNT

The next day I went to Gilbert's class at 11:00 as per my usual Friday routine. After a few moments of looking over the heads of the students in the large lecture hall, I spotted one that looked familiar. I walked over and stood next to him. "This seat taken?"

Bleary blue eyes accented by the dark circles beneath them shot up to meet mine. He looked really surprised to see me. He also looked like he hadn't slept since the day before. I chalked it up to school. I remembered my Freshman year. I didn't get much sleep, either. Everything was tougher that first year. "Mr. Gates," he said.

"Ben," I corrected.

"Um, it's Riley."

"Wait, no. I'm Ben. You don't have to call me Mr. Gates."

"Oh," he said, frowning in confusion. "Sorry."

I smirked as I sat down next to him. "You sleep last night?"

He groaned and buried his face in his arms atop the desk. I heard a muffled "Sleep's overrated." He actually sounded a little congested. His cheeks were pink, too. I wondered if the kid was sick. But I figured it couldn't be too bad. He'd made it to class, hadn't he?

I smiled sympathetically. "Homework?"

"Would you believe I stayed up all night playing an RPG on the internet?"

I thought about it. "Yeah. I would."

"That's mildly insulting."

I was about to reply when a guy who was passing by behind us reached down and smacked the kid across the back of the head. Pretty indecently hard. "Hey!" I called.

Riley raised his head and first looked at me with this wounded look before he realized I wasn't the one who hit him.

"Hey, Poole, how'd you sleep last night?"

Riley didn't even look up at the tall, orange-haired young man. He answered, though. "It was real nice out. You should try it. I bet a night under the stars would do you good. Oh, wait. I forgot. You're only allowed to do what Kent tells you to do. If you thought for yourself, you might lose your spot as head lackey. I mean, you get a badge for that, right? Maybe like a picture of a puppet on those strings…"

That was when the hot-tempered red head made a grab for Riley, with an angry "Shut up!" I don't know if the idiot was going to start a fight right there in the lecture hall or what, but I was already out of my seat, standing between them.

"All right, back off."

He looked up at me as though just realizing I was there. I wondered how the guy ever got into MIT. He seemed like nothing more than lackey material to me, too. "Who are you?" he asked.

I was really tempted to say "Your worst nightmare," but I resisted. "Ben Gates. You have a problem?"

"Not with you. Not yet," he sneered.

I think I laughed. "Kid, go sit down in your seat before you make a royal fool of yourself."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but somebody else yelled something at him, and he looked around self-consciously before stalking back to his seat.

I turned to see Riley staring up at me. He looked confused. "What?" I asked.

"Why did you do that?" He wasn't mad. Didn't seem embarrassed. Just…confused.

Which made me a little confused. I shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea."

He raised his eyebrows. "O…kay."

The professor walked in then, and I sat down. As Gilbert started lecturing, I leaned over and asked, "What happened last night?"

He gave me a look that clearly said, Why in the world is this guy talking to me about something that's none of his business? I had no answer for that, so I just stuck to my original question and waited for him to answer. "Steak night in the cafeteria. As edible as ever."

"Riley."

He practically did a double take. I could still see it on his face--Why won't this guy leave me alone? "What?"

"You weren't playing video games last night, were you?"

His only answer was to erupt into a coughing fit. A deep, frightening cough. It didn't stop. Face burning red, he grabbed up his bag and walked up the aisle and out of the room. I sat there for a minute. This was none of my business. I just met the guy yesterday. He'd been breaking into my car for crying out loud. Whatever the heck his problem was, it was exactly that--his problem. I groaned inwardly as a weird protective instinct flared up, the same one that made me stand between the kid and that orangutan. I looked at Professor Gilbert, still lecturing away. Screw it. I stood and headed out the door.

NTNTNTNTNT

I found the kid in the bathroom, and any suspicions I'd had about his physical health were confirmed in the worst way. He was throwing up. Hard. I got some paper towels and wet them in the sink. Then I just stood there outside the stall, waiting for him to finish, the whole time calling myself an idiot.

When the stall door opened, he stumbled out and caught himself on the sink. He turned on the water and cupped some up to his mouth, rinsing and spitting with one of the most miserable expressions I'd ever seen in my life. His eyes were red and watery from being sick, and the red splotches high on his cheeks contrasted sharply with his now horribly pale face. He didn't realize I was there.

"Here." I held out the paper towels.

He looked up in a sort of exasperated surprise. "Mr. Gates."

"Ben."

"Riley. You a stalker or something?" He sounded out of breath.

"Just a concerned citizen."

He nodded, taking the towels from me and holding them to his face. "Well, thanks for your concern, citizen. I'm fine, though."

"Really? You look like crap."

That surprised a tiny chuckle out of him. "Your encouragement is overwhelming." His breathing sped up again, and he looked kind of panicked.

"You going to be sick again?"

He shook his head, more in determination than anything else. Then any color left in his face was gone, and he nodded frantically. I turned him around by the arm and pushed him into the stall just in time for his stomach to heave out whatever was left in it, which really wasn't much. By the time he was done, he was shaking. "Sorry."

He pushed past me and went back to the sink to run more water in his mouth. "For what?" I couldn't help asking.

"For what is probably the most awkward moment of either of our lives. Thanks for…coming. I'm going to go, now." He was rubbing at his chest.

"I your chest sore? Kind of tight and achy?"

Riley looked at me warily. "Probably the flu or something." Even at that point, I think I realized that was as close as I would get to an admission of pain from him.

"Or it could be pneumonia. Come on."

"Wha…where?"

"My car."

"Why?"

"Because, I can't believe I'm saying this, but you really, really need it for something. And definitely not a snow cone."

* * *

A/N: Kind of a different idea, I think. But hopefully worth the read. It always made sense to me that those guys could meet up at MIT, what with all Riley's nerdiness. I hope you guys like it, and I'll update as soon as life allows! 


	3. Chapter 3

_Riley_

I was about sixty-nine percent sure I was being abducted. I made a mental note to call the local hospitals as soon as possible and let anyone with my blood type know that they'd be able to find my kidneys on the black market pretty soon. This crazy old guy had my bag in his hand, and he was leading me out the door. This crazy old guy I'd met _yesterday, _who had this really sincerely concerned look on his face that could only mean my wellfare was somehow of interest. And I was relatively certain that you couldn't sell somebody's organs if they dropped dead from disease. Which meant he had to keep me alive until he killed me. Fantastic.

The cold Massachusetts air sucker punched me in the gut as soon as we stepped outside, cooling my overheated body down way too fast. So I lied. Sue me. I did feel like crap. I broke into a coughing fit that felt like it was ripping my lungs apart.

It didn't stop. I just kept coughing until I couldn't breathe. My legs sort of got all mushy and decided to quit holding me up, which would've really irritated me if I wasn't so busy trying not to suffocate. So then I was on my knees on the ground, and my kidnapper had his arm around my chest, which did in fact hurt. Quite a bit actually. And without so much as a warning, the heel of his hand came down hard right between my shoulder blades. Ouch. Great. I was sitting there choking to death, and the guy obviously saw my suffering and decided it would be better to just beat me to death. Put me out of my misery. Except when he did it again, something rattled loose in my chest.

"Cough, Riley," he ordered.

Wasn't I coughing? Oh, I realized. He was right. I had stopped. Still couldn't breathe, though.

"Come on, cough."

I managed to do what he said and coughed up some crud, spitting it out and remembering what it was like to breathe. My chest _really _hurt. I blinked my watery eyes open, realizing just then that they'd been closed. I glanced around. Then I really wanted to close them again. Oh, geeze. People were staring. I groaned. "'m fine. 's over," I mumbled. "Let go."

The guy sighed. "'Fine.' Sure you are, kid. Sure you are." He levered us both up, but my legs were still being jerks about the whole standing thing. And I was right. Now that I could breathe, it was totally irritating. My knees buckled, and Kidnapper Man caught me.

"You're sure you want me to let go?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. Man, this was humiliating. What was wrong with me? "Just the cold. Caught me off guard."

The guy shot me this omniscient type look that said he wasn't buying it for a minute. "Your lips were turning blue. Stay here." He carefully deposited me on a nearby bench. "I'll pull the car around."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just call somebody?"

"You really want an ambulance to come here to pick you up?"

Oh, heavens, no. Like this whole thing wasn't embarrassing enough as it was. "Fine. Whatever." I bet he'd get top dollar for my liver. Though the lungs were probably shot.

"Okay. Zip your coat up and hang tight for a minute. By the way, you definitely have a fever." He turned and actually started _jogging _toward the parking lot. Who does that? I zipped my coat up, pulling it as close as I could. My fingers were freezing so I put them up against my face which was undeniably way too hot. I was so tired.

His car pulled up, and I stood, inching my way toward it, 'cause at that point, him killing me could only bring relief. He got out of the car and came over. I pasted "Don't touch me" all over my face and the guy got it. He went and held the door open and I inched my way to the car. I eased my body into the seat, leaning my head back onto the headrest.

"Just hang on. We'll be there in a minute," he promised as he shut the door and went around to the driver's side.

I tried to remember if there were any abandoned warehouses within a minute's drive. None came to mind, But my mind was feeling a little foggy. "Where are we going?"

He gave me a look that plainly said he thought that was a stupid question. "I'll give you three guesses."

"Abandoned warehouse?"

"Ah…no."

"Dark dungeon of terror?"

"No."

"Anywhere abandoned or homicidish at all?"

"I hope not. It would kind of defeat the purpose."

"And your purpose is?"

"Medical attention. You're sick. We're going to the hospital." Pretty sure there was a silent _Duh, _tacked onto the end of that sentence.

I slumped in my seat. "Sure there aren't any openings in the abandoned or homicidish categories?" I muttered. I hate hospitals. I think I may hate them more than having my organs cut out and sold. I laid my aching head against the cool window, shutting my eyes against a wave of nausea. Surely it would be impossible for me to throw up again. I was relatively sure even my socks had come up with that last round.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'Oh boy, hospital.'"

NTNTNTNTNTNT

"I'm eighteen, and I'm signing myself out. I'm pretty sure you can't stop me unless I have, like, a mutated strain of smallpox or something. Do I have a mutated strain of smallpox?"

The doctor actually looked down at his clipboard. I don't think he was really checking to see if I had smallpox. He was probably taking a moment to plan his strategy. "No, actually, you have pneumonia. Which was only exacerbated by your asthma."

I rolled my eyes. "It's exercise-induced asthma. My lungs aren't falling apart."

"And where, pray tell, is your inhaler? Because it's not on you now. And with your lungs weakened by this pneumonia, which is bad enough by itself, you can expect a whole new definition of 'exercise.' Walking down the stairs to get to the parking lot could be constituted as exercise. And if you have an attack now…"

I crossed my arms and glared at him. "I'll take the elevator."

The man glared right back. "Mr. Poole, do you have your inhaler, or not?"

"I don't. I lost it. I need a new one. Write me a prescription for the inhaler and the antibiotics or whatever people take for pneumonia, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"As appealing as that sounds, if you walk out of here and drop dead, everyone's going to look at me and I'll be that guy who let an eighteen year old kid die because he was obnoxious. I just couldn't take it."

Oh, and now he's funny. I still wouldn't budge. "I absolve you from all guilt."

The doctor looked at my abductor and said helplessly, "He's your friend. Can't you reason with him?"

Gates was standing off to the side, leaning against the wall, just kind of watching. I liked the guy. I did. Especially in light of the fact I still had all my organs. But I still didn't really know what he was doing there. I'd told him very plainly in the lobby to go home. Yet there he was. He shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"Look," I cut in. "I can't stay here. I'm a college student. I go to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology on grants and loans, and I don't have the money for an extended hospital stay, especially when the cost of room and board at scenic MIT is so stinking high. My insurance coverage sucks, and I'll probably barely get enough together to pay for the freaking meds, so please. If you want to be a good doctor and a good person, you'll let me go. I'll be fine. Scout's honor. I'll find a way to be fine."

The guy stood there and stared at me for awhile, and nobody said anything. I met his gaze head on. I was actually telling the truth. I was not going to lose my spot at MIT because I couldn't pay the bill because I had a stupid cold. Definitely not an option.

"Okay," the man said at last, though he sounded anything but happy about it. "I'll go get the discharge papers and your prescriptions. Which he needs to pick up _today_." That last bit was directed toward Gates. I guess the doc thought the guy was my keeper. I didn't care. As long as it meant I was free. He turned back to me. "You can get dressed." He left without another word.

I sighed. Sitting there in one of those stupid gowns after all those stupid tests with the stupid…stupidity of hospitals in general. Ugh. I knew I was being childish. Heck, that was practically a tantrum. But if they thought they were keeping me in that place, I wouldn't have been above holding my breath.

Gates was suddenly there with my clothes. He set them down next to me. "You're sure there's no one I can call for you?" he asked.

I tried not to roll my eyes. "Pretty sure I'd know." I didn't want to think about how pathetic that was. Didn't help that I was fairly certain that was exactly what he was thinking.

He nodded. "So…where's your inhaler?" It was one of those questions people ask casually, but there's that unmistakable note of "lie to me and die."

I shrugged and pulled on my jeans, standing to button them up. I wavered and the guy steadied me as I sat back down. Why was he being so nice? "I don't know. I just lost it."

"Like you lost your keys?"

I bit my lip as I took off the little gown thing and pulled my shirt over my head. "Okay. I had help in losing it. It's just an inhaler. And like I said, my asthma's exercise-induced. I mean, do I look like the type to go for a six mile run every morning? 'Cause I'm not. So it's no big deal."

"What happened last night?"

"You really just don't know when to stop digging, do you?"

"Part of my job description."

"I have no idea what that means."

"Tell you what. I will explain it to you later if you stop trying to change the subject and tell me what's going on. Why I just had to drive you to the hospital."

"Trust me, I'm still trying to figure out why you just drove me to the hospital. You don't know me. For all you know, I could be waiting for an opportunity to knock you out and steal your liver." Who wouldn't assume that?

"I'll remember that and be ready just in case."

I let out a deep breath and tried on my best glare. He met me straight on with the kind of willpower that might make a lesser man crumble. I'm definitely not a lesser man. But I was on drugs. And I totally blame this on the drugs--they had me on the good stuff--but I gave up. Heck, I probably owed him some kind of explanation. "Look, my roommate's kind of a practical joker type. We sort of got off on the wrong foot, so that makes me…the outlet for all his creative energy. I guess. Hence the keys and the inhaler."

"He locked your inhaler in someone's car?"

"No, he ran over it with someone's car."

"And last night?" Geeze, the guy was getting really worked up. He actually looked mad. I wasn't entirely sure what he was mad at. But I found myself really hoping it wasn't at me.

I sighed and studied the floor. Ah, well, in for a penny. "You know the big fountain outside the admin building?" _Why am I telling him this? He's not going to care. It's not a big thing. This sort of stuff happens all the time. _"Well, I sort of got tossed in there. And then kind of…locked out of my dorm…for the night." Man it got cold at night. Especially if you happen to be soaked. On my list of miserable nights, it was definitely up there. I kept my eyes on the tiled floor, waiting for him to say something. _He's not going to care. He's not going to care. _Then I realized with a jolt that…oh, man, it had to be the drugs. This didn't make sense at all. Gates was a good Samaritan type. That didn't mean we were friends. I needed to find out what that doctor gave me and make sure I never got it again. Because I realized with a jolt that…I wanted him to care.


	4. Chapter 4

_Ben_

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I didn't want to believe what I was hearing. I could feel my blood pressure steadily rising. The kid was staring down at the floor with fever-bright eyes, waiting for me to say something.

"What's his name?" I demanded. If even half of the angry disbelief I was feeling came through in my voice it would explain the way his head shot up and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Why…"

"Riley, you have pneumonia. This doesn't pop up overnight. It can be made a whole heck of a lot worse overnight, but you had to have been showing some symptoms before."

He shook his head, wincing. "But I wasn't sick."

"You know what, it doesn't matter; you don't soak a person and leave him out in the middle of an November night in Massachusetts!"

"I didn't!" He was staring up at me, and I figured out why his eyes were so wide. Good grief, I'd scared him. _Great, Ben. Kid's so sick he can't think straight and drugged up to his eyeballs. Yeah. Perfect time to yell at him. _

I lowered my voice. "Look, I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. I'm really not mad at you." 

He was rubbing the sides of his head. "Then why are you yelling?"

"Because I yell when I get mad."

"You just said you weren't mad."

"At you."

"Me?"

"Right. I'm not."

"What? Geeze, I think I preferred your yelling."

I sighed and sat down next to him. "I want the name of that guy because he hurt you." He raised his eyes in surprise to look at me then with the most unimaginably hopeful expression. "And if this keeps going on, other people are going to get hurt, too." And just like that, it turned off. Blue eyes shuttered themselves tight, and he looked away. It confused the heck out of me, because I had no idea what I said.

"Oh," he said. "Well, look, don't worry about it. They don't pull this kind of crap with anybody else. It's fine. No big deal."

No big deal. I couldn't imagine in what dimension leaving a kid soaking wet out all night in the cold could in any way be considered no big deal. And I didn't know why, but…especially not this kid. "From where I stand it's a fairly big deal."

"You're welcome to stand somewhere else."

"Riley…"

"Mr. Gates, they're stupid kids. This is stupid kid stuff. I mean our school's pretty much known for pulling pranks and stuff. They didn't think I'd get sick, they just…weren't thinking. Sooner or later, they'll grow up and have jobs and be good at those jobs and make various contributions to society. Or end up in prison. Either way, I'm not one to stand in the way of progress."

I blinked. This kid was good. Half dead and drugged up, and he was good. But I had the advantage of being right. "And what happens if this doesn't stop? What happens if it gets worse?"

He shrugged and with a casual ignorance of the very notion that anyone might give a care if he lived or died, he said, "If it comes up, I'll deal with it." He was still looking at me like he hadn't a clue why anyone would be there. Why anyone would ask these questions. He almost looked like he was waiting for me to disappear.

I was quiet for a moment. How do you talk to someone who's had it so ingrained into them that no one should care about their welfare that they can't even register the possibility that someone might care? Truth was, I couldn't. I couldn't really talk to him. I'd just met the kid. It would be impossible for me to care. Impossible for him to believe me if I said I did. So while every protective instinct in me screamed for me to rush in and save him, I couldn't. I didn't even know him. But I was sure of something. "You didn't deserve this, you know."

He nearly snorted. "What do I deserve?"

"Better."

The doctor walked in then with the discharge papers. Riley signed them without hardly even looking at them. The doctor handed _me _his prescriptions which earned both me and the doctor a look from his patient. "I'm going to get you a wheelchair," the doctor informed us.

"Do I _look _like I can't walk?" Riley called after him.

"Yep," he called back.

With a dramatic sigh, he fell back into the pillow on the bed. "Doctors. They think they know everything."

"Yeah, he graduates med school once and suddenly he thinks he's the authority on your health."

He smirked. "Touche. You know, you really can head out now. I'll call a cab. It's no…"

"If you say 'no big deal' again, I may lash out. Fair warning."

"No…giant transaction?"

I had to smile at the snarky look on his face as he peered up at me, daring me to call him out. I shook my head. "Smooth. You don't need to call a cab. I'll take you back."

"You don't need to."

"Cabs cost money."

"So does gas."

"I'm not worried."

He heaved a huge put-upon sigh that I suspected was mostly for form's sake. A hand went up to rub at his chest as I suspected his lungs protested greatly to being so put-upon. "Fine. Whatever." I also got the feeling that the only reason I'd won that particular battle was because he felt too rotten to put up much more of a fight.

The doctor came back in wheeling the chair in front of him. "All right, Mr. Poole. Your carriage awaits. Get out of my hospital."

"Rush me off this fast, I may lose a glass slipper."

"Just take care of yourself, Cinderella."

With a muffled grunt, Riley levered himself off the bed and lowered himself into the chair. With a horrible Patrick Stewart impersonation, he pointed ahead and said, "Take us to warp nine, Mr. Worf. Engage." Then he sneezed.

A nurse came in and wheeled him through the door. The doctor stopped me. "He needs to rest. Tie him up if you have to, but he needs to stay in one place with soup and blankets and medication. A few days of being spoiled will probably do that kid a world of good, anyway. He looked a little uptight like…" He trailed off and shrugged. "…like I should probably mind my own business. But if he can get away from school for awhile, maybe go home for a few days, that would really be the best thing for him." I don't know where the guy got the idea that I had so much pull on the kid's life, but correcting him would've just been awkward and unnecessary.

"Yeah, I'll make sure he's all right."

I caught up with Riley as the nurse wheeled him to the door. "I'll go pull the car up."

"Is that like your new catchphrase or something?"

"I don't know. You think it could catch on?" He snickered lightly and seemed to relax into the chair a little bit. I grinned. "Hang on a second. I'll be right back." He gave me a tired look that made me sure that if I walked through that door and drove away and never came back that he wouldn't be even a little surprised. And that he'd be okay. It was a little disconcerting. And more than a little heartbreaking.

NTNTNTNTNT

"For the zillionth time, you don't need to come up." He whined this for literally the _zillionth_ time as I followed him up the stairs to his dorm room. I'd just managed to get him awake after he'd fallen asleep in my car. And someone was a little cranky.

"You look like you're about to fall over. I'm just going to put your books down, make sure you're still breathing, and leave." I was still carrying his bag. It might've been a bit of a lame excuse, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get a glimpse of the kid's roommate. Though what I'd do when I met him was anybody's guess. I was still really mad.

He made it up the stairs, pulling out his key as he plodded down the hall toward his room. He stopped at a door that was slightly ajar and frowned. "Hang on." He reached his hand up to the top of the door and very gently pushed it open, managing to catch a full bucket of water before it could fall. He pulled a face. "Real original." He set the bucket down by the door as he walked in. A binder and a calculus book sat near the door. I saw his shoulders raise and then fall in an obvious sigh of relief. He picked up the books and set them on a nearby desk.

I shook my head. "Unbelievable."

"I know. The guy would've killed me."

"What?"

He motioned toward the binder and textbook, eyelids starting to droop. "Kent's homework. He would've killed me if I got it wet."

I had to shake my head at that. "Wasn't he the one who set the stupid thing up?"

A quiet nod was followed by a yawn. He made it over to his bed and pulled back the blanket, patting around for a minute before he appeared satisfied that nothing bad was going to happen. It looked like a routine he'd gotten used to. With that, he crawled into bed, shoes and all, pulling the blanket up to his ears. "Thanks, Mr. Gates," he said, voice raising above a yawn.

"Ben."

"Riley," he murmured sleepily.

I gave an exasperated sigh to cover a smile. Taking his inhaler and his meds out of my pocket, I asked, "Where should I put these?"

"Oh." He sat up slowly and held out his hand. "I'll take 'em." I handed them to him and watched as he slipped them into his pillowcase.

I was pretty sure if I shook my head one more time I'd get dizzy. This was so messed up. And the kid just…accepted it. What the heck? With my mind in "What the heck?" mode, I set his books down by his desk and walked to the foot of the bed. I lifted the blanket and started untying his shoe. I slipped the first one off before he realized what was going on.

"What're you doing?"

"I'll tell you later. Go to sleep for a few days."

"Got class."

"You can get the notes from someone else," I told him as I unlaced his other shoe.

"Don't trust other people's notes," he informed me.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." I pulled the shoe off his foot and set it by the bed with its partner, dropping the blanket back over him. "But if you want to stay out of the hospital, you have to take it easy for a couple days at least."

He sighed into his pillow, hand moving up to rub at his chest. "I will try."

"And somehow, that does surprise me." There was a sticky note pad on the desk. I picked up a pen and scribbled down my cell number. "If you need anything, call me, yeah?"

He reached out his hand and took the paper without protest, slipping it into his pillowcase with the meds. That kind of made me smile a little. "If my shoes are gone when I wake up, I will come find you," he mumbled into his pillow. A third grader couldn't have mistaken that for a real threat.

"Oh, shoot. You got me. I'm after your shoes."

He turned his head and blinked up at me. "So what _are_ you after, Mr. Gates?"

It was really that hard for him to believe I wasn't playing him for something. "Believe it or not, I'm just trying to help."

I don't think he believed me, but he was too tired to argue. "Sure. Thanks." I saw the moment he fell asleep. And I stood there for a second. And I looked around the room. And there was still that part of me that was screaming at me to save him. And I still didn't know how.

So I turned and walked out. But not before I opened the calculus book on the desk and read the name scribbled on the top line. Kent Bishop.

* * *

A/N: Mmkay, so not a whole heck of a lot happened this chapter. This I know well, believe me. But things shall be picking up soonly. I just needed to get into Ben's head a bit and figure out what he's thinking. And besides, I got to write more poor sick Riley, for which I need no excuse. ;) Thanks for reading, guys. I'll try to update quickishly. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! You're wonderful!

* * *

_Riley_

When I woke up it was dark outside. Man, I hate that. Daylight Savings Time. What a stupid idea. Who the heck came up with that? I made a mental note to Google it later and rolled over. I coughed. It hurt. I'd never had pneumonia before, but I didn't realize it could hurt this much. It was like taking a rake to the insides of my lungs. Drugs. I needed drugs. With a careful survey of the room to ensure Kent was nowhere within pill-snatching distance (I was pretty sure if he threw my pills under a car, I would either die or kill him. Neither prospect sounded especially inviting), I fished the bottle out of my pillowcase and downed a couple pills without bothering to get up for water.

As soon as my head sunk back down onto the pillow, the phone on the nightstand rang. With a groan I fumbled it off the hook and mumbled, "Thank you for calling United Garden Gnomes. When that touch of style's gone, add some magic to your lawn."

"Riley, where the heck are you?"

I gasped and sat up, wincing. "Josh. Oh crap. What time is it?"

"Like ten 'til seven. You forget or something?"

"I fell asleep. I'll be there in ten." I was already up, phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear, all but hopping on one foot to pull my sneaker on.

"We go on in ten."

"Then I'll be there in five." As I tried to get the phone back down on the hook, I slipped and hit the floor. With a grunt, I blamed my lack of grace solely on the pneumonia and heaved myself up. "Not my night," I wheezed to myself.

I shoved my foot into the other sneaker, possibly dislocating a toe or two, and headed for my closet without even lacing them up. I grabbed my bass guitar and in a brief moment of lucidity, went back and dug in my pillow for my inhaler. It came out with that sticky note with Gates' number stuck to it. I took a quick puff from the inhaler. Asthma sucks. Both the inhaler and the paper were shoved into my pocket as I headed downstairs. I didn't bother grabbing my coat. No time. It was just a quick walk across campus, anyway. The rest of the time I'd be inside.

The blast of cold air as I walked outside reminded me I still had a fever. I shivered but kept going, tugging down the sleeves on my thin-knit blue sweater. Walking's supposed to warm people up anyway, and fresh air's gotta count for something. I tightened my grip on my guitar case, gritted chattering teeth, and picked up the pace. I made it to the student center in under six minutes. Just enough time to suck some asthma meds into burning lungs, tune my bass and get shoved out onstage. Hot lights, screaming people, loud drums. I brainwashed myself into believing I was having fun, and it made the couple hours of standing there picking out the notes on my bass pass a little quicker. I didn't mind, really. Josh was a good guy. Mediocre lead guitarist, but a good guy.

When it was over I slipped my guitar into its case and headed for the exit. Bed, bed, bed, bed, bed. I may have actually been mouthing the word over and over. I was so exhausted, and my body really wanted to crash. My lungs wanted to burn. My body just mostly wanted to crash.

I was passing the dark, quiet admin. building when I heard him. "Hey, roomie!" The guy was such a moron. I tucked my chin in closer to my chest and kept walking. I knew once he started something no way was I going to let it lie. And since I knew this about myself, it seemed like a good idea to avoid the confrontation altogether. But then, how do you avoid someone you share a ten by twelve foot room with?

"Poole! I'm talking to you, man!"

"I heard."

He caught up to me. It was inevitable, I guess. He had his couple of guys with him. The orange one. I think his name was Kenny. Kent and Kenny. How ridiculous is that? And then there was John, whose real name was Juan, who was from Spain and mostly didn't speak English. And I didn't think people from Spain were that big, but John/Juan was pretty much the most gigantic Spaniard I'd ever seen. The guy was like 6'7".

"You have fun with that little surprise?"

"You mean the water bucket?" I asked dully as I kept moving. I could smell the alcohol on them already. Oh yay. "Yeah, it was hilarious. If I'd grown up in a Turkish monastery, I totally would've fallen for it." Usually I let him think the stupid stuff worked. But I was too sick and tired to play ball. Not gonna lie, I wanted to hit him a little bit. His Spanish enforcer stepped in front of me, blocking my way. I stopped and rolled my eyes toward Kent. "What?"

"I still don't get you, Poole. You really enjoy the punishment, don't you?" Kent was no tiny, either. Which is why he got away with a lot of the crap he pulled. He could get pretty intimidating when he was right in your face. A lot of the time, that's my problem. I'm mostly not smart enough to be intimidated.

"I enjoy trying to work out in my head exactly how many stupid stunts you're going to pull before you get thrown out of school. And then I enjoy picturing you wearing a stupid hat at Chuck E. Cheese and smiling at some bratty little kid's parents as he throws pizza at you and calls you a big fat dumb face."

His big fat dumb face reddened as he smiled and shook his head. I think it still surprised him that I wasn't scared of him. There was nothing he could dish out that I couldn't take. I knew this. Apparently he'd made it his mission to prove me wrong. "You never know when to give up, do you?"

"Just like you. So much in common, Kent. No wonder we ended up roommates. As much as I'd like to go back to the room so we can paint each other's toenails, I'm really tired. I just want to go to bed."

"We're going to get ice cream," he said, voice colder than the night air.

I really needed to go inside. I couldn't hide my shivering from them a whole lot longer. "I'm happy for you. Kindly tell your behemoth to step aside so I can go." Juan was staring down at me with his bouncer face on.

"I think you should come with," Kent said, oh so smoothly.

"I think you should move to Finland. Sometimes it's best to keep our opinions to ourselves."

"You going to let him talk to you like that?" Kenny piped up. Kenny was a psychology major. Every time I think about it, I still shake my head.

"Come on, Poole, it wouldn't be a party without you." He took a step forward. Guy really wasn't firing on all cylinders. I stepped back.

"Seriously, back off. I don't feel like playing tonight."

"Should've thought of that before you ticked me off." He has this way of sounding really…nice. While his eyes stare at you like he would prefer it if you were no longer alive. "It wouldn't be fair to expect me to let that go."

"I've never been much of a team player."

"Come on. A night out with the boys. I'd be insulted if you refused."

"But Kent, there are just so many other ways I could insult you."

He made a grab for my arm then, and I reacted, swinging my hard guitar case around, and nailing him square in the stomach. He doubled over, and I dropped the case and ran. Didn't get especially far. Kenny hit me from behind, and took us both the ground, him on top of me. I wouldn't have been a match for him on a good day. This wasn't even a good day. A fist landed itself right below my ribcage, and a gasp tore at my lungs. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Spain came around and grabbed one of my arms as Kenny hauled me up off the ground. Kent was still doubled over. He looked up at me and smiled. "I think a night out…with the guys…will do you good," he panted. "You look a little rundown."

I gritted my teeth. "It's a head cold."

"Get him to the car." I think Kenny hit me again. No, wait, oh yeah, Kenny definitely hit me again because I told him he was going to be the worst psychologist ever. But, come on. He was.

As I was dragged to Kent's Cadillac, I looked back to where my bass was still lying abandoned on the ground and pretty much kissed it goodbye. The beginning and the end of my music career. Sweet.

We got to the car, and Juan pointed to the trunk with a grin. Always one to oblige, Kent popped it open. I had to draw the line somewhere. "I'm not getting in there. You can't…" This time Dr. Kenny landed a good one right across my cheekbone, snapped my head back.

When I could hear past the pain, I heard Kent telling him to knock it off. At first I thought they were talking about killing me. Not even I could believe they were that stupid. But then he said something about how black eyes get people talking, and if he kept it up and I ended up in the hospital, someone would be bound to ask questions. I didn't have the heart to tell them I'd already ended up in the hospital once, and the only person who'd noticed was some old guy who needed to get his good deed in for the day.

"I wasn't going to break anything," Kenny said, grinning. They were all having such a good time.

"All right, whatever. Just put him in the trunk," Kent dismissed him.

Juan grabbed me from behind and very unceremoniously threw me into the trunk. Not that I expected a ceremony. But some restraint would've been nice. Kent looked down at me and shrugged. "Should've thought twice, man." With that, the trunk was slammed shut.

NTNTNTNTNT

Trunks are dark. I'd never had the opportunity to inspect one this closely before, but since I had this rare opportunity, I seized it. My findings: trunks are really, really dark. I took another puff from my inhaler. My lungs were very, very sad. They were tight and hot and my breaths kept catching. But no, I told myself. I wasn't scared. They're stupid college kids. This is a stupid college kid prank. They can't do anything to me. Not really.

I nodded to myself and stretched out more comfortably. At least the guy wasn't driving a Geo or something. And the inside of the trunk was relatively warm. Count your blessings, Riley. Yep. Count those blessings.

I don't know how long they drove. I think I fell asleep, which was really stupid, but completely accidental. The doctor did say to get some rest.

I woke up when the trunk opened and Juan yanked my stiff body up and out of the car. I looked around. I had no idea where we were. It was dark, and the street we were on looked…rarely used. I swallowed. "I don't see an ice cream shop."

Kent smiled. "Little change of plans."

"Kent, I'm not kidding now. Take me back. Take me back now."

"Take it easy, kid. I thought you'd be thrilled to get off campus for a change."

"You were confused. I'd be thrilled for you to get off campus for a change."

Kenny stepped up. "Keep talking, Poole. That black eye's looking pretty ugly."

"You should see the other guy."

He stepped forward and probably would've taken my head off if Kent hadn't stepped between us. "Hey, cool off, cool off." Kenny stepped off, glaring at me.

Kent looked at me and with his cold smile informed me that, "I hate you."

"I know."

"So if I'm going to be able to resist killing you in your sleep, I think I need this night to myself."

_Oh, no. _"Kent, look…"

He reached out and patted the side of my face. The side already swelling up from the hit I took. "Sleep well tonight, kid." He backed up and headed for the driver's seat.

"Kent!"

He turned back. "I told you, kid. You should've thought about this earlier." He slid into the seat and shut the door. Kenny shouldered past me with a wicked grin and sat in the passenger seat. Juan got in the back. No, they weren't serious. They wouldn't leave me here.

"Kent!" The engine started. I went up and banged on Kent's window. "This isn't funny!" He pretended like he couldn't hear. He shifted into drive, and he drove. Kenny waved goodbye. I took a few running steps after them. "Stop!" I hollered. "Stop! You can't leave me here! Stop!" It wasn't begging. It wasn't. I stopped running as my lungs started tightening up. Looking around, I shivered, a cold fist of dread hitting the bottom of my gut. A dim streetlight barely illuminated a few dark buildings. The shadows seemed to move, but I told myself that was stupid.

I wrapped my arms around myself and took another puff from my inhaler. This was officially the worst college prank ever. They weren't coming back. I already knew that. I also knew that the temperature was dropping and I needed to find a way to make it through the night because even if I refused to acknowledge it, I was scared. I was really scared. I wasn't sure if my body could survive another night in the cold. And this part of town looked undeniably rough.

I told myself to calm down because my breathing was speeding up, and I really couldn't afford for my breathing to speed up. Rubbing at my aching chest, I started walking, unsure where I was going, only that I needed to find a way to not die. I didn't even have a cell phone. I couldn't…

Then I saw it. Like a beacon of light come down from heaven, I saw it. The angels sang the hallelujah chorus. There was one of those phone booths. The really old school kind that Superman might use to change into his costume in. I prayed that it still worked as I crossed the street to get to it. I didn't have any change on me. Had no money whatsoever. But I could call collect… With the phone in my hand, I stopped. _Who, Riley? Who you going to call? _The Ghostbusters probably wouldn't be much help. I had no money for a cab. My heart sank. I didn't even have anyone I could call. I felt hot tears rise in my eyes, and I hit the side of the booth in frustration.

Then I remembered. The little post-it stuck in my pocket. No. That would be stupid. The guy didn't care. He wouldn't…wouldn't want to come. I wasn't his problem. I leaned my heavy head onto the side of the booth. I really didn't have any other choice, did I? I slipped he paper from my pocket. Slowly, uncertainly, my fingers started punching in the numbers.

* * *

A/N: Ben fans, do not fear. I love him, too. There will be oh so much more of him in the upcoming chapter. Cross my heart. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is pretty much the longest chapter I've ever written, I think. So, if you like longish chapters, well...there you go. If you don't like longish chapters, well...this is one. So...yep. Mmkay.

* * *

Ben

As soon as I pulled my blanket up and adjusted my body to that perfect spot of comfort, wouldn't you know it, the phone rang. I sighed and seriously considered not answering. It was probably my dad. Again. Yes, Dad, I'm coming home for Thanksgiving. Yes, I'm sure the turkey will be fine. No, I don't have a dessert preference. Yes, I did like the green bean casserole last year.

I knew the man was a bit of a worrier. And this year would be a bit different because it was just going to be the two of us. Usually we went up to Maine to be with his sister and her family, but she was sick with the flu, and we all decided it would be easier on her if she didn't have to deal with the stress of feeling like she had to cook for everybody. So we decided we could make it on our own. Jury was still out on whether it was actually a good idea. I knew that spending a week at his house was only begging for an argument about the treasure. Blah, blah, the treasure's out there, blah, no, you're wasting your life, blah, blah, blah.There was probably no real way to avoid it. I knew this because I'd considered all the possible ways of avoiding it. All the alternatives ended with him spending Thanksgiving alone. And as much as I didn't want to fight with him, there was no way my conscience would let me get away with leaving him to spend that day alone.

Against my better judgment, I reached out and grabbed my cell off the nightstand. "What?" Wasn't Dad. The call was collect. Frowning, I accepted the charges.

"Mr. Gates?"

I sat up. His voice sounded different. Not good different, either. "Riley?"

"This is Riley Poole from earlier. Um, you…I didn't…I…" He paused for a moment and took a rattly-sounding breath. "I think I need your help. Sorry."

"What's the matter?"

"I…" he was obviously trying to sound close to normal, but the way his voice kept trying to speed up on him let me know he wasn't nearly as okay as I was hoping he'd be. He sounded a step away from panicked. "I don't really know where I am, and it's getting cold, and I thought I wouldn't need my jacket, because it was just supposed to be a little walk across campus, but then, then they…I knew they weren't getting ice cream, but they sort of made me go…"

"Riley. Hey, buddy calm down. You're outside?"

"At a payphone. Yeah. I just…I need a ride. I'm sorry. I would've called a cab, but…"

"No, you're fine. You're okay. I'm glad you called. Tell me what you see."

"It's really dark out there, man."

"Look hard. I'm going to come find you. I promise. Give me a point of reference."

I could practically hear him nod. He was trying hard, but boy, he sounded scared. "Okay. Right. Um, there's a water tower, I think. It's down the street from where I am. I can't see if there's anything written on it though. And there's a bunch of real old buildings with rated R graffiti. They look mostly vacant, kinda like where you'd think drug dealers would come to do business. Drug dealers and murderers."

"Hey, you're going to be fine. All right? You hear me? You're going to be okay."

"Yeah. I hear you."

"Okay, you said you're in a phone booth?"

There was a pause as I'm pretty sure he nodded and then remembered I couldn't see him. "Yeah. I am."

"All right, I think I know where you are. I want you to stay put and wait for me. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"You…really will?"

I was his only option. I realized it right then. He was calling me because he literally had no one else to call. And he knew that if I didn't show up… Geeze, kid. What if I hadn't met him the day before? That thought scared me way more than I was willing to admit. "You have my word. I'll be there."

"Okay." He may have been putting his life in my hands, and we both knew it. "If you could hurry…?"

"I'm on my way out the door."

"Right. Mr. Gates?"

"Ben."

"Riley. And if you ever need like a kidney transplant or something, and I'm a match, you can have one of mine, and I'll make sure they get someone really good to play you when they turn it into a Lifetime movie."

I pulled on a pair of jeans and my jacket and then grabbed an extra coat out of the closet. I smiled. "Um…back at you?"

"Okay. I'll see you in twenty, then. And I am really sorry."

"Not your fault. Concentrate on keeping yourself warm, okay? You have your inhaler with you?"

There was a short little intake of breath on the other end of the line, and I knew he was shocked, either that I'd remembered that he had asthma or that I'd thought to ask. "Yeah." Thank God.

"Good. I'm getting into the car now."

"Okay. Thanks." I don't think he really wanted to hang up. But he very deliberately told me "Bye," and did just that in what I could only assume was an attempt to convince himself he wasn't as dependent on me as he actually was. I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and pushed down harder on the gas than any officer of the law would've appreciated. Kid was out there alone in one of the worst parts of town that I knew of. That did not happen.

It _was_ cold outside. I didn't feel it, though. Because inside, I was boiling.

NTNTNTNTNT

Riley

I hung up the phone and rubbed some of the fog off the widow of the booth, looking down the road, like Gates' car would magically appear. I really, really hoped the guy's word was good, because if it wasn't, I was so screwed. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself again. I figured I should probably move around if I wanted to keep from freezing. So I left the booth and started pacing a few steps each way on the sidewalk beside the phone.

Ten or fifteen minutes went by until my lungs told me to knock it off, and I figured they were right. I probably shouldn't be moving around that much. I just had to sit down and pray that Gates would show up. I hated being dependent on people. It very seldom worked out in my favor. _Like you really have a choice this time. _I sat down on the curb and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees as a particularly hard gust of wind tore through the fabric of my sweater like it was nothing. Okay, new plan. Sit down and wait inside nice, sheltered, rusty old phone booth. I stood and was about to implement the aforementioned brilliant plan (one I like to call, Plan Beta), when I saw something move in the shadows to my left.

No, that was still stupid. Nobody was out here. Not now. My logic was very cruelly ripped to shreds as a man stepped out of the alleyway. He was mostly shadow, but I could make out the rough edges of his coat and the tattered knit cap on his head. He stood maybe 6'1", 185. I froze, my hand on the door to the booth as my heart sped up. _Don't be stupid; don't be stupid; don't be stupid, _I told myself over and over. My mind kept jumping to conclusions, and none of which I particularly wanted to conclude. He probably didn't even realize I was there.

Then as his head turned and eyes landed unmistakably on me, he said with a voice that made my heart drop into my stomach, "You lost or something, sonny?"

I took a step back, shaking my head quickly, lungs jerking in my chest. "I-I've got a ride coming. Thanks."

His teeth glinted in the faint glow of the streetlight as he slowly looked up then down the street. "I don't see no ride, son."

I didn't wait another second. I tore down the street as fast as my legs would go. My feet were pounding on the pavement, lungs tearing across my ribcage, and I thought my heart would explode out my ears. I heard the guy's footsteps running behind me as he shouted the kind of words that were spray painted across the sides of those dead buildings, and my vision got blurry. I don't think I'd ever been so scared in my entire life. _No, no, no, no! _

I couldn't stop. Couldn't stop. No option. Go, legs, go. Oh, please, God, help. God, help me, please! I couldn't breathe. I was running, and I couldn't really breathe. Please don't let me pass out!

I turned around the corner and smacked straight into something that was hard and soft at the same time and felt arms tighten around me, squeezing right at that spot Kenny punched me in my side. I let out as much of a scream as my lungs would allow, and it came out all hoarse and pathetic, but I was not gonna give up. No, I struggled against those arms for all I was worth. Terror fueled my muscles as I fought hard for all of three seconds before I heard the voice.

"Riley! Hey, calm down, it's me."

If the guy had asked right then, I would've donated both my kidneys. I stopped fighting and all but collapsed, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a terrified sob. It's a sound I would love not to ever make ever again.

NTNTNTNTNT

Ben

I stood there for a moment, arms full of comp. sci. major, when a man came running around the corner. He stopped when he saw me, and a horrible feeling dropped into my stomach. I let go of Riley and pulled the wide-eyed kid behind me.

"You got a problem?" I fairly hissed, hand moving to my back pocket for the knife I keep there. The man's eyes looked me up and down. Apparently he didn't like his odds against both of us.

He held up his hands and said with fake innocence, "No problem, man. No problem." He let his eyes linger on the kid behind me for a moment, with a look that made my stomach knot before turning and walking away. I watched him go to make sure he wasn't coming back before turning to look at Riley in time to see the kid lean back against the side of the brick building and slide down until he was sitting on the ground, his breaths coming in short, terrified gasps.

I stepped closer and went to touch his shoulder, try to help him, but he shrank back from me, "Don't touch me," he wheezed. "Just don't…I…give me a minute." He was shaking all over, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. He was trying to slow his breaths, but it wasn't working, and he started clutching at his chest, eyes filling up with tears from pain and fear. I didn't give him anywhere close to a minute.

I reached down and hauled him up onto his feet. "Come on." He didn't resist as I led him to my car, which was parked a few yards away right in front of a phone booth. Turns out I was one street off. Not knowing the exact time table, I'm still not sure if that fact saved his life, or if it's the one that put him in so much danger. I nearly tore the rear right door off my car as I yanked it open. Pushing him into the backseat, I followed suit, sliding in next to him, grabbing up the extra coat, thanking God I'd thought to bring it. I wrapped it around his shoulders. His breathing was getting really bad. "Where's your inhaler?"

He worked the little contraption out of his pocket and started sucking at it, trying frantically to get some of the medicine to his lungs as he reached out and slammed his hand down on the lock button for the car door. If the panicked look in his eyes was any indication, the meds were getting nowhere close to where they were supposed to be.

"Riley, you've got to calm down. It's okay. You're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you, kid, I promise."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a tear slipping out from under his defenses. His breathing got worse.

Without knowing what else to do, I reached behind him and leaned him back into my chest. "All right, listen to me, Riley," I told him, keeping my voice calm and level. I could see his face reflecting off the window. Man, he looked scared. But he was listening. "If we don't get this under control, you're going to wind up back in the hospital. You want to go to the hospital?" He quickly shook his head. I could feel his chest heaving up and down as he sucked in each painful, labored, shallow breath. "I didn't think so. So you're going to make your breaths last the count of three, okay?"

I took the inhaler from his shaking hands and held it to his mouth. "Breathe it in. Let it get all the way down. Hold it. Come, on Riley. You're okay. You're doing all right, kid."

It took ten minutes of me coaching and him working past his independent instincts enough to let me help him for his breathing to level off. I still think if it wasn't for the fact that he was cold, sick, and scared half to death, he would've died before letting me help him. We sat there for a moment, concentrating on breathing. He was nearly dead weight against my chest. "You okay?"

He took another shaky breath. Held it. The words "Fine. Sorry," came out as he exhaled.

"There's no reason to be. But I think maybe we should swing by the hospital."

"No." Ugh, he sounded almost betrayed.

"Riley…"

"You said…we only had to go if I didn't…start breathing. I'm breathing. No hospital." He waited a beat. "So please let go of me and let's drive away now. Far far away. Right now. Please."

I sighed as he awkwardly sat up away from me, keeping his eyes lowered in a way that I couldn't possibly have mistaken for an invitation to talk about anything that just happened. Of course when I opened the door to change seats, the overhead light came on, and I got a full view of his black eye. "Good grief!"

He winced and lowered his head further. "Can we not…talk right now?"

I bit my lip, anger clenching my hands into fists at my sides, thankful he wasn't looking at me. When I thought about what just happened, what some punk kids just put my… what they put this kid through….No way was I letting this go. But he looked so exhausted, and so broken, and so very, very…alone, I didn't have the heart to press him for details right then.

"Sure," I said softly.

He nodded. "'kay."

I sat down behind the wheel and drove, checking on my passenger every chance I got. He lost his battle with sleep almost as soon as we got out of that nightmarish neighborhood, stretched out on the backseat, my coat pulled up to his chin. And I thought, wow. When that kid's awake and got his mouth running, he could almost convince you he was just fine. Strong. Tough as nails. And he was strong. And he was tough. But take away his smooth talk and that stubborn-set jaw, and it didn't take a genius to figure out exactly what he was. He was an eighteen-year-old kid. And he needed somebody.

I parked the car in my spot and looked at my sleeping young charge, trying to figure out the best way to get him up and inside without starting an argument. Only thing that came to mind was the direct approach. "Hey. Riley. Wake up; we're here." I reached my arm back and jostled his leg. His eyes snapped open, and he jumped. "Hey. Take it easy. We're here."

Giant blue eyes were darting around nervously. "No, we're not. This isn't my dorm. Where are we?"

"Hey. Calm down. This is my apartment."

His eyes finally slowed down and settled on the seat cover. He looked like I'd just told him his puppy "left to join the circus." I didn't understand why. "Oh," he said dully. "Okay."

No protest? Really? Wow. Kid might actually be coming around. "All right. I'm up on the second floor."

"Nice." He opened his door and stepped out of the car, blinking his eyes and shivering in the cold night.

"Come on. We've gotta get you out of this cold."

"Pretty much already caught my death. Don't know how much another minute or two…"

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. "Come on." He followed me into the building and up to my floor. I unlocked the door and stepped through, motioning him to keep following. "I know. It's not much, but it works for me pretty well. Sorry about the mess." He was staring about the room, sleepy eyes wide. I had been working on some treasure related research, and I had computer printouts and books scattered about the living room coffee table. And the couch. And a few minor things on the floor.

I left him standing there as I went into the kitchen to get an icepack for his eye. I opened the freezer and started filling a Ziplock bag with ice.

"What is all this stuff?" he asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

I grinned, but resisted. This probably wasn't the ideal time for a history lesson. And yes, I do know that there are in fact times not ideal for history lessons. "Ask me that later, and I will be glad to tell you."

He shrugged. "O-kay. So…where's your phone?"

"My phone? Who are you going to call now?"

He blinked. "A cab. That's why I'm up here, isn't it? You didn't want to drive back to campus. Which I get. What is it, like, half an hour from here?"

I shook my head in amazement. He really thought I was sending him back.

"What, forty five minutes? You should've gotten a place closer to campus, man."

"Riley, you don't need to call a cab."

"Then how am I supposed to get back to school?"

I came back into the living room with the ice bag wrapped in a hand towel and handed it to him. He just held it, so I guided it up to his face. "Tonight? You're not."

He winced but the icepack stayed where it was. I'm not even completely sure he knew what I was doing. "Then what…" He trailed off. It literally _just then _dawned on him. "So, I…You want me to stay _here_?"

"I'm not taking you back to that place. Not tonight. You're roommate do this to you?" I realize it was kind of a low blow interrogating him when he was dead on his feet. But if he thought I was taking him back there, he was crazy.

"Wh…yeah. But…" He was looking flustered.

"Why? You want to tell me _why _this guy's got it in for you so bad?"

"You want to tell me _how _this has anything to do with you?" He matched my tone so exactly it was almost funny.

"Well, you are standing in my living room."

"'Cause you won't let me leave."

"Riley, do you have any idea how dangerous it was, what they did to you tonight?"

"Yeah, actually, I think I do."

I realized I had said the wrong thing. His eyes looked haunted, reflecting every bit of the horror he'd just endured. I'm sure the what-ifs that were playing in his mind were even scarier than the ones running through mine. "Look, do you really want to go back there tonight?"

I could see the "no" written on his face before his lips ever said, "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because…I left my bass guitar out on the lawn, and if I don't get back there to get it, someone's going to take it."

I shook my head. Not what I was expecting. "What is your bass doing out on the lawn?" I rephrased. "You were supposed to be in bed."

"I was filling in for a guy in a band. They had a show, and their bass player was out with pneumon…" The eyebrows-shooting-up-to-my-hairline look I gave him must have registered, because he quickly and obviously changed it to, "with bronchitis."

"And you just had to fill in?"

"Yeah. Josh, the lead guitarist, was behind on his tuition because his mom's in the hospital, and if he missed another payment, he'd have to leave, and if I didn't play, they'd have had no bass, and the student center director guy was paying them for the show, and if they didn't have a whole band…" He paused and took a breath. "I couldn't just not show up."

I sighed and closed my eyes briefly. Unbelievable. "Riley…stay here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid that if you go back and stay in that room with that guy, you'll get hurt again. How'd you end up with him as a roommate, anyway?"

A smile quirked his lips. "I wondered the same thing, so I hacked into the computer to look at those forms they make you fill out that they look at when they match people up. Turns out we really don't have a whole lot in common. He likes his room clean; I could care less. He's a little bit country; I'm a little bit rock and roll. Then I realized I'd accidentally checked 'yes' instead of 'no' on the 'Are you actually a sadist?' question, so I guess they must've matched us up based on that."

I didn't return his smile. "I'm going to do something about this."

His smile disappeared. "Like what?"

"Like get him expelled. Hopefully arrested."

"You can't do that, Mr. Gates."

"Ben."

"It's Riley. This is my thing. I'll handle it."

"Why can't you call me Ben?" I asked. "Why?"

He didn't answer that question. "Look, I appreciate the interest. Really. It's touching. But I got myself into this. I can ride it out."

"Yeah, and how, pray tell, could you possibly have done something to deserve what happened tonight, huh? How?"

"I got his best friend kicked out of school. Okay? That's what I did. I knew that the guy was cheating, going into the computers and switching his grades. Which was ridiculous because it was in the first couple weeks of the semester. But he was a good hacker, and I knew he wouldn't get caught, and I wouldn't have cared except the guy was a royal jerk, and he just…was a jerk to everybody all the time, and so I wrote a program and tacked it onto the inside of the computer's mainframe that highlighted his movements so the faculty would've had to be complete idiots not to catch him. And Kent found out. And Kent's got issues with letting go and with being a sadist. And here we are."

As his torrent of words came to an abrupt end, I sighed. "Riley."

He was studying the wood floor like he was worried he'd be quizzed on it later. "What?"

"You don't deserve what he's done to you."

"I know that."

"I know that, too. And it matters to me." I prayed that he didn't ask why. Because truthfully, I had no answer. At least no answer that made sense. Yes, it would've bothered me if this had happened to anyone, but the fact that it was this kid tore me up inside. Which didn't make sense. I'd just met him. Two days earlier, I hadn't even known he existed. But there, in my apartment, him standing right there in front of me, everything in me was telling me to go ahead and save him. He needed someone to save him, and somehow he'd gotten so well used to not having anyone care that he didn't even realize it. And it broke my heart.

He didn't ask why. I think he might've been too scared to hear what my answer would've been, and it was easier not to know because if he didn't know he could maybe let himself hope a little. "Whatever. It's really not that big a deal. But anyway, thanks."

"Yeah. Look, I'm tired; you're tired. Let's talk about it tomorrow, yeah? Tonight the couch is all yours, okay? And don't argue. You're not going back to school tonight. Doctor said I have the authority to tie you up."

"And you wonder why I hate hospitals?"

"Not really."

"Okay, fine. Whatever." He glared at me long enough to make a point. I don't know what that point was. I'm not entirely sure he knew what that point was. But once he figured he'd made it, he dropped the glare and still managed to mostly hide the shy smile playing with the corners of his mouth.

I cleared a spot off for him on the couch, not even bothering to hide my smile, which made him cross his arms until I moved the icepack up to his face again. He toed out of his shoes, just standing there, looking wholly unsure of himself, clearly not knowing what he was supposed to do with himself. "Go grab some blankets from that closet over there, will you?" I've never seen anyone look that subtly delighted to have been given something to do.

Hiding a smile, I went back into the kitchen and got some extra strength Tylenol. It wasn't his prescription, but it would help keep his fever down for the night. I filled a glass of water and went to take it in to him. When I got there, he was sitting down next to his stack of blankets and thumbing through some of the papers on my coffee table. He looked up at me. "Seriously, what is all this stuff? What do you do?"

"You really want to know right now?"

"I could use a bedtime story."

I handed him the glass and the pills and cleared a spot on the coffee table so I could sit down across from him. "All right, I'll tell you. Fair warning: you may think I'm crazy."

"I already think you're crazy."

"All right, smart guy. I'll tell you the story."

"Wait, there really is a story?"

"Oh, there's quite a story." I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees, letting my face play it up like it was some big, secret deal. He bought it hook, line, and sinker, leaning forward himself. I could already see his wheels starting to turn, preparing to commit everything I was about to tell him to memory, draw his own conclusions from the information I was going to give him. He was a bright guy, this one. I could already tell that. I started telling him the story the same way my grandfather told me. He listened to every word, eyes growing wider and wider, imagining the very thing that had been toying with my own imagination from the time I was a boy.

As I finished, he sat back, amazed, blinking against sleep-heavy eyelids. "Whoa. That's some pretty crazy stuff."

"Hopefully not completely crazy."

He shook his head tiredly, leaning further back into the cushions. I stood and took the opportunity to slowly nudge him so he was lying down. He was still looking up at me, blinking those darn eyes like he totally trusted me, even though I knew he totally didn't. "You're going to find it," he murmured, sleep beginning to take its hold.

I tilted my head to the side, trying to remember a time anyone but my grandfather had said those words so surely. My grandfather said it with conviction. Riley said it with simple faith.

I couldn't help asking, "How do you know?"

"I don't think you'll let yourself die 'til you find it." He yawned. "You're too…" He waved his hand, trying to think of the right word as I shook out the blanket and dropped it on top of him, "You care too much about stuff."

I thought about it. "I don't think so. I think I just pick the right things to care about."

"Either way." He snuggled down into the cushions, tucking the blanket in under his chin.

"Good night."

"Night." I was in the doorway to my bedroom before I heard the softly spoken, "Ben."

* * *

A/N: So, the whole switching POV thing...might've been kind of annoying to you. Not really keeping up with the format of the earlier chapters. Sorry. But it may happen again. Fair warning. Anyway, thanks for reading this far, dear reader! 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello! It's been so long! I'm still here, promise! So I hope you guys aren't too Christmased up by the wonderful Christmas stories by my dear friend Princess Tyler Briefs and the new one by sarahofearth. 'Cause I'm still stuck in Thanksgiving. But wow, you guys are awesome! All of your reviews are absolute treasure, and thanks times a billion for your great responses! This chapter is again, a long one. Longer than the last, I believe. But I hope you guys like it because you all deserve to read something you like after all the great reviews you've written. Seriously. I'm. Blown. Away.

* * *

Riley

I slept really hard. I could tell because I had no idea what time it was when I woke up, and usually my body wakes itself up at around 6:30ish, 'cause I have a 7:00 class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which apparently nobody told the school was insane. But I was pretty sure I'd passed up 6:30ish awhile back. Which I didn't understand. But I was really, really warm. Not bad warm. Perfect, glorious, not-freezing warm, and that really didn't provide much of an incentive to let my brain wake up all the way. So I laid there for a minute with my eyes closed, half trying to figure out why I would've slept so hard, half not really caring in the slightest. Maybe it was Saturday. Was it Saturday? It sort of felt like Saturday. Then I moved and full-blown consciousness slapped me in the face.

My chest ached, my side woke up with this sort of dull throb, my face just kinda…hurt. But the worst part was the memories that came rushing back, mercilessly telling my brain everything that had happened the night before. The three amigos, the car ride, the phone booth. Oi, the asthma attack. I groaned inwardly, pushing my head back into the cushion that wasn't mine, under the blanket that wasn't mine, on the couch that was…

"Good morning." …that was that guy's right there.

I wondered why people said that. Good morning. If there even was such a thing, it definitely wasn't this one. "Morning."

"How do you feel?"

"Like an idiot." I didn't realize I'd said it out loud until he appeared in front of me with a smile and a couple of pills. I didn't look at them to see what they were. I just swallowed them, figuring if the guy went through all of this just to poison me, I owed him that much. "What time is it?"

"10:30."

Wow. I couldn't remember the last time I got to sleep till 10:30. I could so get in the habit. "It's…Saturday."

"Yes, it is."

"Okay." I sat up very carefully and rubbed my hands across gritty eyes, forgetting for a second that my left eye was a little bit injured. I was quickly and forcefully reminded. I pulled my hand back, not doing as good a job of covering my wince as I would have liked, because he moved both my hands out of the way and tilted my chin up to inspect what I'm sure was a whole rainbow of colors mottled about my face. "I'm fine," I protested, though my heart wasn't really in it. The guilt was already settling in.

"Yeah." He wasn't agreeing. Not by a long shot. He let go of my face, though. "Look, I'm going to go grab a shower. Hang tight for a minute, and I'll fix us some breakfast, yeah?"

"Sweet. Sounds good." No, actually, it really didn't. I could only imagine the kinds of things running through that guy's head. Probably quickly approaching something along the lines of how I was getting to be way more trouble than I was worth. As he disappeared into the bathroom, I just sort of sat there, feeling horrible. First, I get my keys locked in his car. That right there would be enough to do it for most people. But no, he sticks around long enough for me to get sick. Real attractive. Then, if that's not enough, I call him up in the middle of the night, practically begging him to come get me. And just thinking about that asthma scene…ugh. I dropped my head onto the back of the couch, waiting till I heard the shower start running before I let out a huge groan.

And after all that, what does he get in return? Me. In his home, on his couch, eating his food. Totally taking advantage of him, because he was a nice guy. And he _was_ nice. Painfully so. _So yeah, Riley. Just totally use him. Cool. That doesn't make you a horrible person at all. _Not at _all. _Man, I was a jerk. I had to figure out a way to fix this. The guy was probably already planning on driving me all the way back to college. Seemed to be his way. I could at least save him that trouble. Yeah. Wasn't much, but I'd find a way to make the rest up to him later. Plan…forming. Okay. With new sense of purpose, I tossed the blankets off me and stood.

* * *

Ben

I got out of the shower and dressed quickly, mentally preparing myself for the verbal sparring match that was sure to take place when I managed to get him talking about that roommate of his. I had the undeniable feeling that I wasn't getting the whole story. There was more to it than what he'd told me. Of that, I was sure. What I wasn't sure about was the proper method for getting a sick, lonely, teenaged computer geek I'd known since Thursday to open up. Funny, they never covered that one in my gen. psych. class back at Georgetown. Needless to say, I was a bit out of my league.

But I did have a bit of a plan. Well, not so much of a plan as it was…a stall tactic. Okay, so I planned to put the subject off for a little bit. At least until after I got some breakfast into the both of us. Until he was…until he quit getting that look. That head-hanging, nearly ashamed, guilty look he got every time I hadn't tossed him aside. Like he really couldn't understand that it was okay to let someone do him a favor. I'd be lying if I said I got what that was about. But whatever it was, I hated it, and I think subconsciously, I started almost thinking of what to do to make that look disappear.

Pancakes, I decided. Eh, it was a start. _No…waffles. _Waffles and bacon and eggs. Maybe some biscuits and gravy if I had enough flour. I walked out of my bedroom fully intending to covertly spoil the heck out of the kid on my couch when I stopped. There was no kid on my couch. The blankets were folded neatly on the armchair, and as I peeked into the kitchen, I saw Riley in there sitting at the table, his foot up on the chair, tying his shoe while speaking softly into the cordless phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder. 

"Uh-huh, and it runs past MIT, right?" He paused and listened. "And can you tell me if there's a stop located near the, ah…"

"Parkside Apartments," I intoned.

"The Park…" he stopped, head turning to look at me as he realized the voice didn't come from his head. "Oh, hey." Covering the speaker with his hand, he mouthed, "It's the bus station people."

Raising my hands in a what-are-you-thinking gesture, I mouthed back, "Hang up."

He went back to his conversation. "Parkside Apartments?" He listened again for a moment and then gave me a thumbs up. "Okay, great. Thanks. Yep. Bye." He hung up and looked up at me with a grin. "Hey. You don't have to drive me back today. The bus runs right by here. There's a stop like two blocks away. I don't have any money, but if you spot me fare this once, I'll get it back to you on Monday in class. Oh," he frowned. "Crap. I forgot to ask how much it cost. Hold on." He put me on hold and went to dial the phone again. I snatched it back.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at me. "Making arrangements. Oh." He winced. "Can I use your phone?" He looked faintly worried.

"Of course you can," I told him before turning away and setting the phone very deliberately back on its cradle on the wall.

I turned back and waited a beat for him to say he was joking. Because nobody could be that clueless. But no, he just kept staring up at me with those eyes of his and this proud little grin, looking altogether pleased with himself for saving me some trouble. I sighed. He really was that clueless.

"What time does that bus run by here?"

"In forty five minutes," he said cheerfully.

"Gotcha. Well, why don't you go grab a towel from the closet there and take a shower, and I'll make us some breakfast."

He gave me a look. "You're going to _make _breakfast? I thought that was like a TV thing. Don't normal people just grab a granola bar on their way out?"

I shook my head and turned him around by the shoulders, pushing him back toward the living room. "Not on Saturdays. On Saturdays, people make breakfast. Go get your shower and then lay down and watch some TV or something. I don't know if you realize, but you have pneumonia. And don't try to tell me it's 'exercise-induced.'"

"But I have to leave in…"

"We'll worry about it later. Besides, the shower will help ease the soreness." I sent him a pointed look. I hadn't missed the way he was so careful when he moved, and I suspected his black, puffy eye wasn't the only bruise on his body. He looked shocked for a split second. He recovered quickly, predictably changing the subject.

"So to clarify…I'm going to go in there while you…cook?" Geeze, was it really that hard to believe?

"Yes, while I cook. Now get out of my kitchen."

"Wh…do you wear an apron?"

I rolled my eyes and shoved him off toward the bathroom. "TV's all yours when you get out. Remote's somewhere on the coffee table. You may need to dig."

"And I plumb forgot my backhoe."

"Take your shower."

"Get a file cabinet."

I bit my lip to keep from grinning as I shook my head. Kid had to get the last word in. It was like he spoke reflexively. I wondered why that was. In any case, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't pretty entertaining. I pulled out my skillet and set it on the stove before rifling around in the fridge for eggs and butter. A stop by the pantry informed me that I did indeed have plenty of flour. Nice. I quickly set to work. I liked cooking for people. It had been a little while since I'd had the opportunity. Saturday morning breakfast was one of my favorite childhood traditions, one of the great memories I had with my dad before most of the good memories were shoved to the backburner as it were, with our nearly constant bickering. As I scrambled some eggs, I remembered helping him, watching him do everything as he patiently explained it to me. The man was a great teacher. Turns out I just didn't learn everything from him that he wanted me to learn.

I was pulled from my thoughts before they could descend into the truly depressing as a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, I pulled another waffle from the iron and set it on a plate with the others, checking the biscuits in the oven before making my way to the door. I wasn't expecting anyone. I opened the door and stopped short. Oh, no. "Melanie. Uh…"

"Don't worry, I won't be here long." The brunette said breezily as she nearly shouldered her way past me, carrying a box. "But this is really heavy." She set it on the floor with a thump.

I stayed in the doorway, leaning against the door jam, watching her, almost amused. "Bringing back everything you borrowed from me? Isn't that kind of…junior high?"

She gave me an exasperated look. "Do I look thirteen? These are the cans for the food pantry thing you're doing. You are still doing it, right?"

I felt my eyebrows raise and my face redden. She gave me a look. "You forgot?" It almost wasn't a question. Which I would've resented if she hadn't been…right.

"Yeah. I did. Thank you. I really appreciate it. You've probably just saved my life."

She shrugged. "I try." She looked about my living room, eyes drifting over the papers and books with that slightest bit of distaste, which made me feel both a little irritated and a little guilty. Our relationship hadn't ended on horrible terms. We didn't hate each other. But it wouldn't be completely truthful for me to say my passion for finding the treasure had nothing to do with it. "Still searching." That one definitely wasn't a question.

"Until I find it." I pushed off the doorframe and entered the room, leaving the door ajar.

She nodded. "I hope you do, you know."

"Thanks."

I saw her face the moment she saw the breakfast stuff out on the kitchen counter. "Oh. Oh, wow. You…there's someone here, isn't there?" I watched her face run the gamut from horrified to amazed to betrayed to embarrassed and then back. "I…am really sorry. I'll just go. I can't believe…wow. Never mind. I'll see you, Ben." She started to go.

"Wait. Hang on. I don't…no, you don't understand, it's not…"

Riley chose that moment to come padding out of the bedroom barefooted, wearing his jeans and white undershirt, hair wet and sticking up at odd angles, cheeks pink, face bruised, and eyes that bright, bright blue. "Ben, I've been thinking…" He froze when he saw Melanie. His eyes widened and went from her to me to the box she'd set on the floor and back to her. "Hello."

* * *

Riley

I'd resisted the urge to stand under that blessedly hot water until it ran cold. Ben was right. It did make me feel better. Plus, breathing in the steam made my chest kinda loosen up a little, which was nice. But running up the guy's water bill would probably be a little counterproductive to the whole this-guy-just-repeatedly-saved-your-butt-you-should-probably-show-a-little-consideration plan. So I'd hopped in and out, maybe lingering a little longer than may have been strictly necessary, but I had to make sure I got all of any remaining remnant of last night's happy little jaunt through Nightmareville off me. I'd slipped into my pants and toweled off my hair, glancing in the mirror to get a full view of what was all in all a pretty impressive black eye. I'd have to thank Kenny later.

Then I'd poked the bruise on my side. Then I'd called myself an idiot for poking the bruise on my side and pulled my t-shirt over my head, telling myself the skinny look was in, and besides that freshman fifteen should catch up with me any time. I checked the clock on Gates' nightstand. Shoot. The bus would be here in fifteen minutes. I'd probably just have to shove a few spoonfulls of oatmeal or whatever he was making into my mouth and politely excuse myself. Yep. A few bites, a thank you, and I'd be out the door. And if he ever needed help studying for Gilbert's class or pretty much help with anything in general ever, he pretty much had a go-to guy for life. Because, even if I'd never say it out loud, I knew I probably owed him mine.

I walked out of the bedroom, figuring the guy would still be in the kitchen. "Ben, I've been thinking…" I trailed off. There was a girl in his living room. A really pretty girl in a black leather jacket with a box at her feet. Ben looked uncomfortable. She was kind of gaping at me. I swallowed and let out a nervous, "Hello."

The girl's mouth sort of moved, and sound came out, but it didn't really translate into words. She tried again. "Um…hello." She looked at Ben, giving him a look I didn't really know how to interpret. Oh, geeze. _That's his girlfriend, _I realized.

"Hey. I was just leaving. Thanks for letting me crash here, Ben. I owe you. See you in class, though." _Awkward, awkward, awkward. _I moved for the door, without even really thinking about the fact that I'd left my sweater and my shoes and socks in the bathroom. I didn't especially care, just really wanted to get out before I screwed things up even more. Lucky thing, though, Gates sort of blocked the door, holding up his hands.

Only took a second for his voice to start working. "Wait. Riley, hang on. This is Melanie. Melanie, Riley. Melanie's a friend of mine. She came by to save my life and drop off some cans."

I blinked. "Cans?"

"Food pantry thing. Tell you all about it in a minute. You lay down. You," he pointed to the girl. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I was still dealing with the order he gave me. "Wh…I…the bus…"

"There will be other buses." He pushed his way all through the papers, knocking a bunch of books and stuff to the floor, until he found the remote for the TV and shoved it in my hand. Then he pushed me toward the couch. I sat. "Don't move for a minute."

"Ben, I don't want to be…"

"You're not. Whatever it is you don't want to be…you're not. Okay? Give me a minute."

My mouth clicked shut. Like, audibly. I didn't completely know what to do with that particular line of logic. But, never one to be that easily compliant, I heaved a sigh that was just big enough to be annoying and with a pointed look clicked on the TV. This seemed to satisfy him, and he caught the now-sort-of-grinning girl by the wrist and pulled her into his room.

I flipped through the channels until I found Dragon Ball Z, but it was one I'd seen like three billion times, and in between mouthing the words with Goku and shooting looks at Ben's closed door, my heart wasn't really in it. Then I smelled it. Smelled good. I stood and followed the smell into the kitchen. I had to pause for a second in shock. This was not oatmeal. This was real food. Like, food-food. There was a plate of waffles, the iron still on and sitting next to it evidence enough that these were no pre-made, frozen wannabes. These were the real deal. A skillet full of bacon sat next to a plate of scrambled eggs that had cheese all melted over the top. A shallow pot of white gravy was on the stove, the burner set on low. It all looked unbelievably good. Geeze, how many people was this guy planning to feed?

The smell, though, was coming from the oven. Curious, I cracked it open. The smell that wafted out made my mouth water. Biscuits. Real, homemade ones. They were golden brown and perfectly done. I looked back toward the bedroom. Door still closed. I had no idea what they were talking about. Probably me. Oi. Well, the biscuits were going to burn. I opened drawers until I found the one that had the potholders and grabbed one of those oven mitt things.

Now, I make no claims on having any kind of kitchen prowess. All I know is that when things are done, they come out of the oven. Those biscuits were done. So being the helpful guy I was trying to be, I slipped on the mitt and reached in to fish them out. Unfortunately, I found out that if your oven mitt touches those bright orange heat-emitting tubey things at the top of the oven, your oven mitt is likely to catch fire. I felt the heat as flames suddenly lit the top of the mitt, starting to eat it all up, turning it all black.

_Crap! _I swung my hand around, shaking the flaming mitt, blowing at it, trying to put the flames out, shooting a look to that still-closed door, praying the guy on the other side stayed on the other side. Ow. Ow, this was starting to hurt. Yep, sudden pain! I yelped and flung the thing off, somehow managing to land it in the sink, which would've been great if there hadn't been a hand towel draped over it. Because then that was on fire, too. And since I had no marshmallows, I figured it would probably be really beneficial if I put that fire out, because the hand towel was definitely hanging down to his wooden cabinets, and if I set this guy's place on fire, I'm thinking it'd be a safe bet he wouldn't be spotting me bus fare.

So I ran to the sink and managed to flip the burning rag into the sink. Grabbing the squirt hose thing, I turned on the water and soaked the whole offending thing until I was sure all the flames were dead and the apartment was safe. Another couple squirts and I was satisfied that they were sufficiently vanquished. I breathed a quick sigh and surveyed the damage. Biscuits still in the oven, the oven door hanging open. Oven mitt and hand towel charred beyond all reason and lying soaked in the sink. Not one of my better capers.

"Riley?"

Oh, boy. I braced myself. This was probably going to get ugly. This was the part where the guy who'd pretty much been a saint so far realized he'd been wasting his time. It had been…three days. Not exactly a record, but definitely up there with my most spectacular screw-ups. I turned away from the sink, figuring it's always best to face these things head-on. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Gates…"

"Ben." I would've been surprised that he still cared what I called him, but as I looked up I was too crazy taken aback by the concern magically-markered all over his face. "Are you okay?"

* * *

Ben

After I pulled Melanie into my room, our conversation went something like this: I said, "That…this isn't what it looks like _at all…_"

Her laugh surprised me. She was grinning of all things. "What does this look like, Ben?"

"I…" I shook my head. "That kid is really sick, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't know how to take care of himself because he doesn't believe in hospitals and he had no one to call. He broke into my car. Well, not really, but almost. He's in my calc class, and he's been having a rough time with a demonic roommate. I'm helping him out."

Still grinning, she required no further explanation at that time; rather she simply looked me in the eye and shook her head. "Ben, I know you. Get that panicked, awkward look off your face. I think it's funny you think that I'd think that. We dated, dummy." She sat herself down in the armchair and leaned forward, chin in hands and said in a tone that reminded me why we were friends, "So, tell me a story. Who is this boy? Some troubled orphan you've taken to raise?" She raised her eyebrows, eyes smiling.

"No," I retorted.

"Just a random kid you've been letting sleep on your couch? In your home? Come on. He's special."

I just looked at her. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I just witnessed you shove aside your work, your precious books, your life-altering printouts to find him a remote. For him. I don't think I've seen that before, Ben."

I tilted my head to one side, brow creased, considering. "Well, that…I…hm."

She smiled again. "You did adopt him, didn't you?"

"I did not adopt him. He's an adult. He just needed a place to stay for a night." Not sure I believed all of that. If the way she snorted was any indication, neither did she.

"He's in trouble, isn't he? And you're saving the day."

"No. Well, yes. Yes, and then no."

She was smiling and nodding, looking all too pleased with herself. "Okay, Ben. Sure. Whatever you say."

"I'm serious. You can't say anything like that to him. He's skittish enough about accepting my help as it is. You practically make it sound like he's my newest charity project. It's not like that."

"Because he's special." She has this way of sounding infuriatingly girly.

I sighed through my teeth. "Yes. Because he's special."

She looked like that admission had made her whole day. "I knew it. So what are you going to do with him? Is he coming to the food pantry with us?"

"Us? I thought you were just dropping stuff off."

"They can always use a few extra hands down there. It's a Saturday. I want to meet your new protégé. You know he's adorable. Did you get a look at those eyes?"

"Melanie, be nice." I wasn't really worried. The woman was nice. And she had a gift for making people feel wanted, something I figured Riley could use a double dose of. Though I don't think I was completely sold on the idea of him spending the day with my ex-girlfriend. Or completely sold on the idea of me spending the day with my ex-girlfriend.

She smiled. "You know, I was never nearly so worried for you as I let on. You're going to do fine, Benjamin Gates," she said as though she'd just decided this. "The world might not be ready for you, but you're a good guy. And you're going to do just fine."

I raised my eyebrows slightly. Not my ex-girlfriend, I decided. My friend. It was kind of nice. "Thanks."

A muffled yelp sounded from the kitchen. Melanie and I exchanged looks. The next instant had her following me through the door. I could see Riley in the kitchen, shooting water into the sink like his very life depended on it. He stopped, apparently satisfied and then dropped his head to his chest, unaware of our approach. Then I smelled the smoke. The oven door was open. The biscuits. Oh, shoot. Walking up I saw what was in the sink. An oven mitt. A very scorched oven mitt.

"Riley?"

He jumped slightly, pausing for the briefest moment before turning around to face me, eyes landing somewhere on the floor in front of my feet. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Gates…"

"Ben," I corrected firmly, almost automatically. I thought we'd had that one out last night. I wasn't about to lose that progress, and I was getting worried. If his hand had been in that mitt… He looked up at me, startled. "Are you okay?"

Apparently the question did not compute. He opened his mouth, shut it, then turned to look at what used to be an oven mitt lying in the sink. "I…'m sorry." He seemed to realize he'd said that already and shook his head. "Um, the oven mitt sort of…caught fire when I was getting the…ah…thing…"

I walked forward and grabbed his wrist, trying to determine if he'd hurt himself. He flinched back, snatching his hand away, eyes widening for a moment. Then he seemed to catch himself. He shook his head, with the most bewildered look. "Sorry," he said again. I'm not sure he even knew what he was apologizing for that time.

Whatever it was, "It's okay. You didn't burn yourself, did you?"

"I, uh…" He looked down at his hand. His knuckles and the tops of his fingers were an angry red. "Y..es. Actually." He looked surprised at this. "But it's nothing serious."

"Uh-huh," I nodded as I turned on the cold water and pulled him around by the wrist, sticking his hand under the flow to get the heat out of the burn. Behind us, Melanie had grabbed a potholder and pulled the biscuits out of the oven.

"Like it's so easy," Riley mumbled.

I chuckled, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. "I hope you like biscuits."

"Love biscuits. I just sort of wanted them blackened, you know? Thought I'd heat it up a little. Guess I got a little carried away." He winced and bit his lip. "I'm really sorry about the towel and the oven mitt. I'll replace them. Scout's honor."

"You were a scout?"

"If I had been it'd be safe to say I didn't get my cooking badge. All the honor of a scout, though. 'My word is my bond,' and all that."

"I don't know. I think you could've gotten your campfire badge."

He laughed a little. "You think?"

Melanie had disappeared into the bathroom and came out with my first aid kit. "You've got burn ointment in here, don't you, Ben?" she asked.

"I think so."

"I'm really okay." Boy, he sounded embarrassed.

"I don't know. It looks pretty red," I said, studying the back of his hand.

"Can't be redder than my face."

Melanie leaned back against the sink so she was more or less facing him. "Hello, I'm Melanie, I'll be your nurse today."

"Hello, I'm Riley. I'll be your comic relief."

She grinned and looked at me. "I like this one, Ben." She took his hand and found the cream, rubbing it carefully across the injured flesh. Riley made a very good show of not wincing.

"I'm glad," I said. "I'll set the table. You're staying, Mel?"

"Was that an invite?"

"You don't need one."

Smiling, she went back to playing nurse. "You're being very brave. Keep it up, and I will give you a sticker."

The kid almost giggled. "Can I have a Power Rangers one?"

"Of course."

He was still grinning. "Sweet. So what are you and Ben doing today?"

"Actually, we're going to this food pantry downtown. They needed some people to help distribute the food. I heard a rumor that you're sick."

"I wouldn't put much stock in rumors."

"Neither would I." I grinned as she felt his forehead, watching the kid's eyes grow to twice their normal size. "Mmhm. Definitely a fever. So here's the deal. If you feel up to it, we're going to drug you up, throw you in the back of the car, and take you with us. There's a break room in the back with a TV that picks up the local channels. You're going to lay down on that couch and watch TV, and I'm going to bring you soup from Lion's Choice. Sound good?

His lips were pressed together, eyebrows to his hairline. I had to cover a laugh. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I like you. Ben does, too." She finished with his hand, holding up the tube of ointment and placing it in his unburned hand. "Put this in your pocket. Apply it every hour or two unless you think blisters are manly."

He shook his head, tube automatically going into his pocket as per her instruction. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Riley," she said cheerfully.

"Guys," I interrupted, wondering if she'd actually manage to get the kid to agree to spending the day with us. Riley just looked overwhelmed. "Breakfast?"

I pulled a chair out for Melanie because I'd learned quickly that she was a firm believer in chivalry. So firm that if it was indeed actually dead, I had no doubt she'd find a way to resurrect it.

I set a plate in front of each of them before sitting down at my own place. Riley's eyes widened as he saw his plate, piled with waffles, biscuits, eggs and bacon. He looked over at me with this expression I couldn't quite place, not making a move to take a bite. "What?" I asked.

He looked like he wasn't sure whether or not he should smile. "So…you didn't know she was coming?"

I grinned. "Nope."

He bit his lip and stuck his fork in the eggs. After taking a bite, he looked up at me and smiled in a way that was almost painfully grateful. "Ben, this is really good."

* * *

A/N: Okay, Abi fans, do not be alarmed. Melanie and Ben just friends. Obviously. She won't even be sticking around for too terribly long. But I thought Riley needed a little extra TLC. And Ben needed someone to talk about Riley with and a bit of background character development type stuff. And probably not a whole lot happened here, but rest assured, it should be picking up by next chappie...which hopefully won't take as many years as this one for me to put up! You guys rock! Thanks for reading!

And yay for the fanfic people who fixed the uploading glitch! Thanks a million!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Is it just me, or are these chapters getting longer and longer? Hm. Weird.

Oh, and also, there are several references to stuff I don't own in here. Like Lion's Choice, or the movie _1776, _or McDonald'sTo reiterate, I don't own any of that. Not even kind of. If I did, I would _so _let you know. And then I'd probably go...buy more stuff or something.

Oh, and Also Part II, thanks for the reviews, reviewers! Much love abounds.

* * *

Riley

So…the couch was worn out and lumpy, the TV could only pick up PBS, so it was pretty much _Sesame_ _Street_ or…_Sesame_ _Street_, the space was cramped and had no windows, and it was in the basement, so every time anybody moved a box or a table or whatever the heck they were doing up there, I could hear it in the worst way. Basically all in all it was…the best day I'd had in a long, long time. Melanie brought me soup as promised. It was chicken and dumpling soup. I'd never heard of something like that. I mean, you've got your chicken and dumplings, and then you've got your chicken soup. But, wow. Put them together and it's like...beyond good. And then she kept coming in to make sure I was warm enough or cool enough or pain free enough. And I kept telling her I was fine, but she kept coming in anyway, and I asked her why, and she just sort of looked at me and said, "Because I want to, sweetie." And…again, I asked _why._ And she almost looked sad for a second, but then she smiled and tapped me on the nose with a "'Cause you're cute," and I chalked it up to a girly thing.

And then there was Benjamin Gates. He was there a lot. Always with a really practical, logical-type reason. The thermostat needed adjusting, or someone spilled something upstairs and he wanted to make sure the basement ceiling wasn't leaking, or he needed to see if his cell phone network provided service even in a basement because the network people claimed it probably could. And it did, by the way. But even though he was busy, the guy would stick around for a few minutes. At one point in the day he sat through a whole episode of _Arthur_ with me, and we discussed the unfairness of the school society's "mean teacher" tag on Mr. Ratburn, and I don't remember how, but he somehow managed to connect it in a comparison with William Daniels' performance in _1776. _It was…a really weird conversation.

I think I was unconscious between two and four o'clock, which probably wouldn't have happened if I'd gone back to school, and it felt really nice because, if I was honest, I felt like…I had pneumonia. When I woke up, the blanket was pulled up to my chin, which was weird because I was pretty sure I'd gone to sleep without it. But in any case, Ben and Melanie were nowhere in sight. I stared up at the ceiling for a minute, listening to all the activity going on over my head. From what I'd been told, the food pantry people had a bunch of families lined up to receive all this food. The ones who couldn't make it out of their houses or whatever had the stuff brought to them, but otherwise, the people just came and picked it up.

So I pretty much started feeling really bad. They were all up there working, feeding people and helping and all that, and I was in their building on their couch, watching their TV. Seemed to be my curse.

But what they were doing didn't sound too hard. And I'd just slept for like two hours. Pretty sure I could handle it. I'd just make sure I stayed away from people, kept my germs to myself, and all that. Nodding, I pushed the blanket back and stood. I had to wait a second for a wave of vertigo to pass. Stood up too quick, I guess. I also realized I had a headache. Gross.

But I was a man on a mission. So I took a bite of the now-cold soup still sitting on one of those old fold-out tables and headed up the stairs. I was met by a whole bunch of activity. People were coming in and out, hauling boxes of food out the door where cars were parked in the lot waiting to be loaded up. There were also a few families there. They had a little table set up with coffee and doughnuts so the families could take it easy while the volunteers loaded their vehicles with Thanksgiving dinner type stuff: boxes of stuffing and mashed potatoes, cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling, pie crusts, frozen turkeys. You name it, they were probably hauling it. It was really a cool thing to do.

So on with the helping. I looked around. Everybody pretty much seemed to know what they were doing. Which would've been great if it weren't for the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. They probably had some sort of a system to make sure everybody got what it was they needed. I stood there for a minute, watching, seeing if I could figure it out or maybe just start with the nearest box and take it outside where hopefully somebody would tell me what to do with it. That sounded like a pretty decent plan, so I grabbed the box that seemed to be next in line and hefted it up. It was pretty light. Boxed foods. Sweet.

So I headed outside, thankful for the oversized Georgetown hoodie Ben made me borrow. Sure enough, once I got out there a lady with a clipboard and too much extra-hold hair spray directed me to a car where I could unload. That was easy. I smiled to myself. I was being useful. This was good. My head felt kind of light and throbby, and my chest was still thick and heavy, but that didn't matter because I was no longer a freeloader. I was slowly earning my keep, and it felt good.

I headed back inside for round two. Next box. I hauled the thing up into my arms. It was annoyingly heavy. Canned goods. Nice. But I could make it. The parking lot wasn't that exceptionally far. I shifted my weight to better accommodate the bulky cardboard box and headed for the door. About halfway there, though, the box started slipping, so I sort of had to bounce it back up with my knee. And that's when I made the decision to sue the box tape company.

Apparently, the bottom of the box hadn't been taped right or something because the bottom fell out and thanks to this little thing I like to call gravity, which had already been unfair enough, the cans in the box all came spilling out, hitting the tiled floor with enough noise to attract every pair of eyes within a thirty foot radius. As the cans bounced and rolled every which way, I just sort of stood there, holding onto the broken box like it was my last bit of dignity. But alas, like the box, my dignity was _so _shredded.

_Oh, crap. _Nobody moved for a second. I looked around, wincing. Yep. Lots and lots of eyes. "Um. Sorry. I…I've got it." I laughed nervously. "Good thing it wasn't the turkeys." A couple people smiled sympathetically. "Uh…yeah." I bent down to start picking up the cans, but then this guy came over. I recognized him from when we first got there. He was the head honcho. Ben had introduced us briefly. I think his name was, like, Paul or something.

"Hey," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Really sorry. You guys have more boxes around here? I can go get one…"

"Don't worry about it. You're Ben's friend, aren't you?"

I glanced up. "I am?" I didn't mean to say that out loud, and I kind of felt like an idiot. The question just sort of caught me off-guard. Oh, well, it was a logical thing to assume, I guess, since the guy didn't know the circumstances. And explaining the whole story would've been pointless and time consuming. "I mean, yeah. I am." I felt kind of bad for lying, but I was saving the guy time.

"You're sick," he stated blankly.

"Hey, look, it was an accident…"

"No, I mean, Ben said you've got pneumonia or something. What are you doing up here?"

Oh. I winced down at the mess of cans and the broken box. "Helping?"

He smiled and shook his head. It was the same kind of look Melanie had given me when I'd told her I didn't really need her to go pick up some Tylenol for me. She'd shown up half an hour later with the Tylenol and a Batman PEZ dispenser. I had no idea why. But I found out grape flavored candy somehow tastes better when it comes out of Batman's head. "Look, kid, why don't you go have a seat over there? I'll take care of this."

"But it was my fault…"

"Go. I'm going to go grab Ben, too. No offense, kid, but you don't look so hot."

That didn't make any sense because I realized that I felt really hot. But whatever. "You really don't need to do that, sir. I'm fine. Little head cold. Nothing to worry…"

"Hey. Go sit down. I was on the debate team for all four years of high school. I could talk circles around you. You're not going to win this one. Go sit."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering how long it had been since he'd been in high school. "Were you really?"

"No. But I was on the wrestling team."

That I didn't doubt. "I'm going."

He grinned and called for somebody to bring a new box as he took the cans I'd gathered and started cleaning up the rest. There were a few metal folding chairs, and I sank down on one of them, feeling slightly like I'd just failed at life. There was a little girl with earmuffs hanging around her neck sitting a couple feet away from me, watching me with a seriously curious expression. I crossed my arms and watched her right back.

Finally, she said, "Are you in trouble?"

I opened my mouth, shut it, then decided, "Probably."

"What happened to your eye?"

"I hit it on something."

"I think you got in a fight."

"You're a very perceptive small child."

She nodded like she knew what perceptive meant. Maybe she did. It was hard to tell. "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "I'm in trouble, too."

I realized right then that I was in time out sitting in the naughty corner with a sixish year old. I took out my PEZ dispenser and offered her some. She accepted. "What'd you do?" I asked.

"Running indoors is against the rules, and I knew that and did it anyway. That's called rebellion," she recited dutifully, pronouncing it more like "webellion," though the look on her face said she thought it was a seriously dumb rule.

"I dropped everybody's food all over the place. That's called stupidity."

She nodded seriously. "Oh. That's pwobably worse."

I nodded back. "Pwobably. So what's your name?"

"MacKayla."

"Riley. It's a pleasure." We shook hands.

"It is," she agreed. "Are you here to get Thanksgiving food?"

"No, I'm here to help get you Thanksgiving food. Well, kinda….Almost. Where are your parents?"

"Over there." She pointed to a man and a woman talking to one of the volunteers a few yards away. They kept shooting me looks. I smiled and waved.

"Where's your parents?" she asked.

I blinked and had to give myself a quick reminder to keep breathing. I so hate that question. "I'm too old for parents." The look she gave me had me sighing and amending my statement. "They're not here."

"Are they waiting for you?"

I paused for a bit. "No. Well, I guess…maybe kind of."

She tilted her head to the side. "Where?"

"Heaven."

"Oh." She nodded and looked down for a moment before her head popped up and she looked at me again. I think I knew more or less what she was going to say before she said it. It was all in her eyes. "My Gigi's in heaven. She always made us turkey for Thanksgiving and she put cheese in the mashed potatoes, but even though she couldn't have cheese because she was lactic tolerance." I translated that to mean lactose intolerant. "But she did it 'cause she said she liked it that that was my favorite 'cause it was her favorite too, when she was like me."

"That sounds pretty good."

She nodded and pulled her knees up to her chin. "Mommy said she could make them that way for me. But I don't think it's gonna be the same."

I shook my head. I wasn't going to lie to her. She was right. No way would it be the same. "No. My dad used to make this baked spaghetti casserole thing. That's what I always wanted for my birthday and stuff. It was pretty much the best ever. I couldn't ever make it quite like him."

"Can everybody eat cheese in heaven?"

I scratched my head. "I think so."

"Then maybe Gigi can make her mashed potatoes with cheese like she liked for Thanksgiving. And if there's enough, your mommy and daddy can have some, too."

"I bet your grandma would love my dad's spaghetti casserole."

She smiled. It was a slightly teary smile, but she was one brave kid. "Good. Gigi was always with us for Thanksgiving. I didn't want her to be lonely or anything."

Yeah. Alone for Thanksgiving. That would suck. My chest was hurting. Luckily I could blame it on the pneumonia. Which I stubbornly did. "Yep."

"Is your mom and daddy nice?"

I nodded. "The nicest."

Her parents called to her just then. She looked up at them then back at me as she slid off her chair. "You're nice, too, Riley." It came out Wiley. Like the coyote.

I smiled. "So are you." She surprised me with a hug around my neck. Yeesh. I forked over the PEZ dispenser complete with refills. "Happy Thanksgiving, MacKayla."

She grinned and popped a candy in her mouth. "Happy Thanksgiving." With that, she rushed off toward her parents. I watched her dad slip her earmuffs back up around her ears while her mom took her hand. I found myself taking a couple of quick, deep breaths.

Then I felt someone nudge my shoulder from behind me. I tilted my head backwards to see an upside down Ben standing there. I think my eyes got bigger, and I lifted my head back up and turned around. I wondered how much he'd heard. "Hey."

"Hey." Oi. Pretty sure at least some of it. Crap. Well maybe not. I don't know. He was looking pretty sympathetic, but he always kind of looked like that.

"Um…I'm really sorry about the thing…with the box and the…stuff."

He smiled. It was an exasperated smile, though. "And what were you doing up here in the first place?"

"Gettin' into trouble?" It was a lame commercial reference, but it was all I could come up with for such an awkward moment.

He grinned, much to my relief. Maybe he hadn't heard any of it. Or if he had, he wasn't making it an issue. Good. He pointed at me. "You. Downstairs. Now."

I stood and gave a smart salute. "Roger that, sir." I kinda wavered for a second, and just like that, his hand was going toward my face. I tensed, only just managing to stop myself from flinching as it landed on my forehead with approximately zero force behind it. _Don't be an idiot, Riley. _Right. His hand was really cold, though. But I did not flinch. I just sort of backed my head away from his hand. Couldn't have people covering up the "Don't touch me" sign I liked to keep scribbled across my forehead.

…That's a metaphor.

"Your fever's way up." He looked seriously disappointed.

"Your hand's probably just cold."

He raised an eyebrow. "Trust me. Your fever's way up. Come on. _Wishbone's_ on now." I…found I really couldn't argue with that.

* * *

Ben

I'd been in the back loading boxes with food when Paul came in grinning. "Gates, your kid's in the foyer," he announced, grabbing an empty box from the shelf. "Trying to 'help,' bless his heart."

I shook my head. Crazy kid. "He wasn't outside was he?"

"He was headed there when I found him."

"You make him stop?"

"Of course."

"How?"

"Vague threats of bodily harm."

I chuckled. Paul's got one of those personalities of someone you'd expect to see dressed as a Santa Claus and ringing a bell. Which is totally contrasted by the fact that he's a former Marine and built like a tank. When he tells you to do something, you do it. And then he'll probably hug you. "Thanks."

"Yeah. He's looking pretty beat. Probably didn't help that the bottom of his box broke and he dropped a load of cans in front of the entire world."

I winced. "Ouch." Didn't make me feel better that I'd been the one taping up boxes. "I'm going to go get him."

"You're due for a break, anyway. You weren't even supposed to be here all day." He shot me a look like he knew what I was doing. But he always thinks he knows what everybody's doing. The fact that he's usually right is completely immaterial to my point.

"All right. I'll be back in a few."

"Take your time. We're fine here."

"You always make me feel needed, Paul," I tossed over my shoulder as I left the room. I was a little miffed. Why in the world would Riley think it would be okay for him to haul boxes around? For most people the word "pneumonia" would be all the excuse they need to retreat to their bed for a few days. Not Riley. Riley needed to be useful. It seemed to be as simple as that. It was just whatever the reasons were behind it that seemed to be so frustratingly complex.

I spotted the back of his head. He was slouched in a metal chair talking to a little girl. I was about to interrupt, but then I caught a piece of their conversation, and I froze, the lecture I'd been silently planning forgotten. I stood there, listening, hearing the raw wistfulness in his voice and found myself having to take a series of deep breaths. I guess I'd known he didn't have parents. It was painfully obvious once you sat down and talked with him for awhile. But to hear him talk about them…to hear the grief so clear in his voice…it somehow made it more real, more painful.

After the little girl left, it took me a minute to be absolutely sure I could talk to him without my voice sounding strange or rough. I was relatively certain he'd be mortified if he knew I'd heard what I'd just heard. So I just nudged him and convinced him to come watch _Wishbone_ with me.

It was that one where the dog did Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein. _I was sitting on the left side of the couch; he was sprawled out on the other. I went through the checklist on commercials.

"How's your hand?"

"Fine."

"Your eye?"

"Fine."

"Your various other bruises I'm not supposed to know about?"

"Fine."

"Your lungs?"

"You know, if you could grab me a Sharpie and a poster board, I'll make a sign I can hold up. It would probably save us both some time."

"Here, take this pill."

"Mm'kay."

And that's more or less how the checklist went. The show was entertaining enough as far as children's shows go, but it did what it was supposed to and kept him quiet long enough for his eyelids to start to droop. The fact that I leaned over and mentioned in detail certain historical facts about the places and time period in the book may have had something to do with that. And yes, sometimes I do, in fact, do it on purpose.

As the show ended, I switched off the TV set and waited for him to fall asleep. His head was lying on the armrest of the sofa, his feet next to me. Just when I thought it was safe and started to stand, he spoke up, "You know, that story doesn't make much sense."

I sat. "How so?"

"Well, if you were toying with the idea of bringing something to life, why would you make a scary monster? Wouldn't you just work your magic on someone you'd known? You know, someone you liked?"

I raised my eyebrows. "That's a good point. I suppose…Mary Shelley didn't think that story would've been as exciting."

"I think it would be. Bringing somebody you love back to life would be way more exciting than reading your way through a whole book just to find out everybody dies." He waited a beat, then shrugged. "I read the book in high school. I was disappointed. I just figured, if I could bring somebody to life, I wouldn't put together someone new. I'd pick someone I already knew I liked."

I really wanted to ask him about his parents then. I _really _did. But it didn't feel right. Maybe someday he'd tell me. I hoped so. But this wasn't something I was going to pry out of him. I wouldn't let him think it was about satisfying my curiosity or something. "I think you're right," I concluded. "That would've made a way better story."

He nodded and was once again silent just long enough for me to think he'd gone to sleep. I'd half-risen out of my seat when he spoke again. "Where's Melanie? Did she go home?"

I sat back down and grinned. That was a surprise for later. At least, I hoped it was. "Nope. She's off on a mission."

Strangely enough, that seemed to satisfy him. Though he did sound really tired. "I gave away the PEZ dispenser she gave me."

"I don't think she'll mind."

"She's really nice."

"Yes, she is."

"What time are we going back to school?"

"Later."

A sigh and a half-hearted eye-roll. "Fine."

"Take a nap," I finally ordered.

"I'm trying," he nearly whined. "You keep talking to me."

I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes, resisting the sudden, overwhelming urge to smack him upside the head. I settled for grabbing the blanket off the floor and throwing it over his head. "You know me. I'm a talker. I'll bring you dinner later, okay? Any preferences?"

"Not hungry. Thanks, though," came the reply, muffled under the blanket.

"I'll pick you up a Happy Meal. I think they've got those Ty beanie things again."

"You're funny."

"That's true." I stood so he could stretch his legs out. I went and gathered the trash from lunch, stuffing the Styrofoam bowls and sandwich wrappers in the Lion's Choice bag.

"Hey, Ben?"

That got my attention. I was still mostly "You" or "Man." He seemed to only call me Ben when he was really tired or really…happy. I didn't want to miss either, so I turned around. "Yes, Riley?"

He pulled the blanket down so I could see his face, but his eyes weren't on mine. "Do you…need something?"

My eyebrows went up. "What do you mean?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly seemed to change his mind. "I…nothing. Nothing. Chicken McNuggets."

"What?"

"In my Happy Meal. Chicken McNuggets." He bit his lip, his eyes on his hand that was picking an imaginary something off the couch. "Please."

I smiled slightly, knitting my brow in confusion. "You got it." I chalked the "Ben" moment up to him being tired. "Go to sleep."

"I'm going," he muttered. I watched his eyes close and pretended to putter around cleaning stuff until I was sure he was asleep. Then I dumped the food bag in the trash and headed up the stairs. I couldn't help but run his question around in my mind, though. What did he think I needed?

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

It was half past nine when Melanie finally showed up. I was helping clean up. Riley was with Paul cleaning up the coffee station while Paul explained the difference between a regular pushup and a Marine pushup.

She came in smiling, giving me a thumbs up. "You got it?" I asked.

"I got it! Where is he?"

"Shh. He's over there."

She grinned and lowered her voice. "Took me a few hours, but I found it." We both looked over to see Riley staring at us, looking perplexed. Melanie giggled. "How hard is he going to freak?"

"Um…hard?"

"Yeah. How'd he do today?"

"Tried to help. Sharon said she saw him outside."

Her eyes bugged out a bit, and she konked herself on the head in a what-was-he-thinking? gesture. "Why would he do that?"

"I couldn't tell you. I guess he needed to feel useful."

Her eyes drifted back over to Riley, who was watching Paul down on the floor demonstrating his pushups. Riley lifted his eyes to look at us with a helpless expression and sort of shrugged. Melanie smiled softly. "He really doesn't know why we brought him here," she said quietly. "You get that, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah." His earlier question suddenly came to mind. _Do you…need something? _I froze for a moment as it hit me. I think I understood then. He was still waiting. Still waiting for me to come out and tell him _why _I was doing what I was doing. Because it had to be that I needed something from him. But then he'd shut down. Like he almost didn't want to know. Because…once I'd asked him for whatever it was I needed…I wouldn't…need him anymore? Oh my. I hoped I was wrong, but it struck me then that Riley was beyond caring that I was using him. He wanted somebody _that _badly. In that moment, it seemed excruciatingly clear. He seriously didn't think I had any interest in being his friend. I wondered if the thought had even occurred to him. "Yeah," I said softly.

Melanie looked concerned. Apparently she'd caught my zone-out. "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hm." I turned toward the snack table. Paul was currently showing the kid the proper technique for boxing. Marine-style. Yeesh.

"And I want you to keep you fists up like this. All right? Good. Tuck your elbows in. Okay, and when you swing, I want you to swing from the shoulder and keep your wrist stiff. Follow all the way through. Like that. Yeah. Good job, kid. And you're going to aim for right here. You break a guy's nose right off the bat, he's probably going to respect you."

"Or at least have a harder time finding me to kill me?"

"Exactly."

"Hey, Paul," I called. They both looked up. "I think we're done here for the night. Ready to lock up?"

"Ready. Thanks for all your help today, Ben. Riley, it was good to meet you." When Riley stuck his hand out to shake, the guy surprised him by pulling him into a Paul-style bear hug.

When he let him go, Riley wobbled a bit and offered an uncertain smile. "Right. Um. Semper fi." I was about eighty-five percent sure the kid had no idea what that meant.

We waved goodbye and headed out to the parking lot. Melanie playfully slipped Riley's hood up over his head. We dropped her off at her car. She hugged Riley. "It was so good to meet you, Riley. I hope you feel better soon."

All three of us said, "I feel fine," at the same time, which made Riley's cheeks turn the kind of red that had nothing to do with a fever. "But thanks," he finished.

Then she turned to me. "Today was good, friend."

"It was. And I owe you."

"Just get a picture of his face."

I grinned. "You got it." She hugged me, too. Over her head, I mouthed to Riley, "Open her door." Ever the bright one, he quickly obeyed, opening Mel's car door for her. She turned around.

"What a gentleman. You boys have a good night."

"Bye."

"See you, Mel."

As we walked back to my car, Riley said, "So you and her broke up?"

"Mmhm."

"Yeah. I think she's really great, but she's not right for you. Like…guy/girl-wise."

I glanced at him, amused. "Really? And what makes you think that?"

"I asked her if she could name all the first ladies," he said logically. "She said she couldn't. I figure whoever you end up with will know that kind of stuff."

I grinned. "Well, next time I'm thinking about dating someone, I'll let you screen her first and tell me these things beforehand."

He gave me a look. "That's a joke, right?"

"Almost."

He sighed. "I swear half the time I have no idea what you're talking about."

"We'll work on that, later."

We slid into my old Toyota, and I started the engine. He was turned toward the window, suddenly still and quiet. We drove a couple miles in silence before I couldn't take it anymore. Time to implement the plan. I yawned loudly. "Listen, I'm pretty tired. Would you hate it totally if I didn't drive you back tonight?"

He sort of did this double take. "Wh…ah, no. The buses don't run this late, do they?"

"No." Well, I didn't think they did.

"Oh. So…"

"So it would mean another night on my couch. Can you handle another night on the couch? It would help me out…"

"Yeah. It's fine. Doesn't really matter to me either way."

I smiled at the road, not missing the way his voice sort of perked up. "Thanks," I told him.

"Sure."

I glanced over in time to catch a tiny grin before his face morphed back into its apathetic mask. "What'd you get in your Happy Meal?" I asked.

He pulled the little animal out of his pocket and shot me a look as he read the tag. "Schweetheart the Orangutan."

* * *

Riley

As I walked through the door to his apartment, I knew I was being kind of an idiot. The more time I spent with the guy, the more it was going to bug me when he didn't want to be around anymore. But…man. It was like he noticed _everything. _Like, every time I coughed or winced or moved wrong, he was like, "Hey, are you okay?" No matter how many times I told him I was fine, he _still _noticed when I wasn't. And…it was kinda…nice. I guess. It wasn't something I was used to. I probably would've felt better if I hadn't totally chickened out when I was about to ask him what it was he wanted. I had my ideas. He probably needed a tech guy for an event or a website designer or maybe someone to run tracking models or computer simulations for his infamous treasure hunt, and I totally fit the profile. But geeze, all he had to do was ask. I already knew I'd say yes. But as soon as he finally came out and asked me and I said yes, there'd pretty much be no reason for him to…I don't know. To keep noticing stuff. So I guess I was…putting it off a little. Which I really didn't want to think about.

But instead of being smart and cutting it off quick before I could let myself get hurt, no, I was like, "Sure, I'll hang out. No problem." And I ended up back at his place, walking through his door, and…totally being blown away.

On the couch, there was a guitar case. No way. No _freaking_ way. That was _my_ case! "What…Oh my gosh!" There was a flash of light and a click. I looked up, and he was staring at the display of a digital camera.

He shrugged. "I promised Melanie."

"Is that mine?"

He was smiling. "Yep."

"Wh…how did you…"

"It was Melanie. I told her about it. She managed to track it down."

"How?"

"She's a journalist. It's what she does."

A girlfriend who's a reporter. Geeze, the guy really was Superman. I went over to the couch and opened the case. My bass. I'd saved forever to buy it. Really didn't figure on seeing it again. I ran my fingers over the smooth finish. Geeze, I could hardly talk. "You…win," I said. "At life. You pretty much just win. Seriously." I could feel the ridiculously huge grin splitting my face in two, but it was so…he got me my bass back!

"Thanks," he said. He was grinning about as much as I was, which I didn't get, but who cares, 'cause the guy seriously made a point of getting my guitar back.

"No. Thank you. Seriously, Ben, this is…" I tried to remember the last time I'd finished a whole sentence. I knew I was babbling a little, but I still didn't really care. I slid my case off the couch and set it on the floor by the wall, leaving it open so I could see my guitar was there and safe and not lost forever. I grinned up at him. "Thank you times, like, a billion."

"It was really Melanie. She's the one who found it."

"Where?"

"Your friend Josh. He picked it up on his way back to your dorm. Wanted to know where you disappeared to. Said you looked like crap."

Had to thank that guy later. And Melanie. I was going to, like, design a website or something dedicated completely to testifying exactly how cool she was for doing what she did.

"Oh, and she picked these up for you, too." He held up a familiar bottle of pills. My prescription. A thought suddenly dawned on me.

"Wait…so Melanie was at school today."

"Yep." He was already in the kitchen filling a glass with water.

"So…why didn't I just get a ride with her?"

"Huh," he said as he tipped a couple of pills into his hand. He brought them and the water over and handed them to me with a grin. "Wonder why we didn't think of that."

I watched kind of in awe as he disappeared into his bedroom and appeared a second later with a pair of sweats that he threw at me. "If you want to put your clothes in the wash," he said by way of explanation as he sat on the couch.

I shook my head. Then I slowly went into the bedroom and changed, throwing my stuff in the wash. When I was done, I went into the family room and sat next to him on the couch. He handed me the remote as he picked up a book from the coffee table, slipping a pair of reading glasses up on his nose. He didn't _really _look that tired. I switched on the TV and sat for a minute, chewing the inside of my lip and not really seeing whatever was on. I think it was the news.

"Ben?"

His eyes were immediately on mine. "Yep?"

I seriously have no idea what your deal is, but right now I don't care because no one but my parents has ever done anything close to this much for me, and there's probably no way I'll ever be able to repay you, and I don't get why you seem to be so okay with that. "Thanks."

He grinned and kinda punctuated each word when he said, "You are welcome."

* * *

A/N: Currently humming "I'll Be Home for Christmas" for a friend who made it home today. Merry Christmas! 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Merry Christmas, dear reader!!!

* * *

_Ben_

I woke up about 7:30 that next morning and just sort of laid there for a minute. Mapping out the game plan for the day. I knew I couldn't put off talking to Riley for much longer. He was still too sick to go anywhere, anyway, and I didn't see an ideal distraction like yesterday's popping up again. He had to go back to school eventually, and I needed to know what I was dealing with. I didn't care what Riley said; those kids were _so _going to pay. Their "stupid prank" could have seriously harmed him. Heck, if I was honest with that part of me that didn't even want to go there, it could have cost him his life.

I had to lie there another ten minutes just trying to calm myself down after that thought, wondering how in the world I was going to get through this conversation without exploding. I really was that furious. But I couldn't let that fact get in the way of me helping Riley. Last thing the kid needed was to think I was mad at him on top of everything else. And I knew that's exactly what he would assume if I lost my temper. But…I was really, really mad.

_Ah, well, _I thought. _First things first_. _Let the kid relax awhile longer, make him breakfast. He's sick; he deserves a little more time off. _It wasn't like I planned to yank him off the couch and grill him. I could put it off for a few more hours at least. Besides, a few years older or not, I was still a college student. Procrastination was a way of life.

I tossed the comforter aside and stood, stretching until my back popped. I walked out of the bedroom, wondering if Riley liked blueberry muffins, when I stopped. Once again there was no Riley on my couch. I sighed. The kid really just could not stay where I left him, could he? Before I could seriously consider investing in a sturdy leash, I heard his voice coming from the kitchen. He was speaking in hushed tones on the phone. Was he kidding me? Again? Really? Oh, I was gonna kill him.

I marched to the kitchen, but stopped just short of the entryway when I got close enough to actually make out what he was saying. It wasn't the "bus people."

"Melanie, are you _sure_? …I know that, but this is different." He was sitting up on the counter, legs crossed, his back to me, still dressed in my sweats. As I looked around the kitchen, a slow smile spread across my face. Riley had no intention of skipping out on me this time. Kid was making breakfast. "Well, because it's me. And yeah, the toast is perfect." He grinned. "We're a good cook." He listened for a moment. "I hope he will. But it's not too late to get rid of the evidence. The guy has a garbage disposal. Are you totally _sure _he's not going to mind?"

I grinned, taking in the plate of hot French toast and scrambled eggs with cheese just the way I liked them. I surreptitiously glanced into the sink. Not a single singed towel or oven mitt in sight. I was impressed. And maybe a little touched. I moved to stand right behind him to say, "I'm totally sure he's not going to mind."

He jumped so suddenly he nearly dropped the phone. "Ben!"

I was still smiling hugely. "What…I cannot believe you did this. It looks fantastic."

He did a decent job trying to hide the flush of pleasure that reddened his cheeks and so made his lips want to turn upward in a smile. He raised the phone back up to his ear. "Yeah, that was him." An eye roll after a short pause. "No, he doesn't look mad. Thanks. For everything. I owe you."

I motioned for the phone, and he handed it over. "Hey, Melanie."

"Ben!" I almost had to hold the phone away from my ear. God bless her, she's a morning person. "Isn't this cute? Geeze, he called and told me, and I nearly _died! _How sweet is this?"

I smiled. "Yes, yes. I'm going to hang up on you, now."

Her voice sped up. "Make sure you give him a hug! And I want my picture!"

"Bye, Mel." I clicked off with the requisite grin and head-shake that usually accompanies my conversations with Melanie and hung up the phone. She was getting flowers or something later. Riley was sitting there on the counter, looking up at me, eyebrows up on top of his head.

I gestured toward the food. "This was your idea?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of. I called Melanie to ask her if she thought you'd mind. And how to make eggs like you like 'em. I was just going to make regular toast, but then she said you really liked French toast and that it wasn't that hard to make. So she sort of…walked me through it. And I washed my hands and tried not to…breathe near anything. So it should all be pretty much pneumonia-free."

I grinned. "It all looks incredible. Chef Riley, you've outdone yourself."

He shrugged a shoulder. "With my track record, all I really had to do to accomplish that was not set anything on _fire, _so…wasn't that hard."

I laughed and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "Come on. I'm starving. Grab the eggs."

Unfolding his legs, he hopped down from the counter and did just that as I carried the French toast to the table.

"Can I help?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because."

It was quite clear that was all the answer I'd get on that particular line of questioning. Which was okay, because it wasn't that hard to figure out. I had to talk again because if I just sat there, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. "I'm surprised you're up this early," I told him as I sat at the table. "Did you…"

"Took my meds," he cut me off, rolling his eyes.

"And…"

"And my fever's down, my chest feels fine, everything's healing, and my hand is blister-free."

_Well, look who's memorized the checklist. _I shot him a look as he set down the eggs and went back for plates and silverware. "I'm going to go ahead and translate that to mean you've got a slight fever, your chest is still a little sore, and your hand feels like a bad sunburn."

His eyes widened the slightest bit, then narrowed, and I knew I so had him. He held his hand behind his back and asked suspiciously, "How many fingers am I holding up right now?"

"Three?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Nope. Thought I'd entered the Twilight Zone for a second." A plate and fork appeared in front of me. "What do you want to drink?"

"There's some orange juice in the fridge." I watched him go straight to the correct cabinet for the glasses and wondered when he and my kitchen had become so well-acquainted. "Is that why you got up so early?"

He frowned as he filled a glass with orange juice. "Is what why I got up so early?"

"The pain."

His hand suddenly jerked, splashing orange juice over the rim of the glass and onto the floor. For a moment, he froze, eyes wide and somewhere else, and it looked like he had to remind himself to breathe. He had to literally shake his head to snap out of it. "Wh…oh. Oops. Sorry. I got it." He grabbed some paper towels from the roll by the sink and swiped at the spill. "And really, I feel fine. A lot better than yesterday. I'm just an early riser. That's all." He gave a short, nervous smile that worried me and quickly and smoothly changed the subject as he delivered my glass of juice. "I usually get up pretty early. 'Cause of classes, I guess. I don't really get why they would schedule them so early, anyway. Half the time, my professor doesn't even sound like he completely knows what he's talking about because he's so zonked, and all the students look kinda angry. Do you have any seven o'clock classes?"

The question didn't fully permeate my brain because I was still stuck on that little episode he'd just had. What in the world? "Riley, how long _have _you been up?"

He was on his way back to the table with his own glass of milk. My question made him stop and look at me, and he seemed to pull a smile out of nowhere. "I don't know. Wasn't really paying attention." He sat down next to me. Instead of going for the food, he sat there waiting expectantly as I loaded my plate and took the first bite of French toast. Wow. It was actually really good.

"Riley. This is amazing. I can't believe you've never done this before. They're perfect."

He shrugged, ducking his head at the praise. "I told you. It was all Melanie."

"Funny, I don't see Melanie anywhere around here. That leaves you. Thank you."

Geeze, he nearly squirmed. When was the last time somebody complemented this kid? "Glad you like. Melanie's a good teacher. I'm definitely adding this to my list of recipes."

"You have a list of recipes?"

"No. But my Ramen noodles are to die for."

I chuckled. He finally served himself and started picking at his food, his mouth running the whole time. Mostly about the day before at the food pantry. Melanie this and Paul that. Every word he spoke did them honor in his own seemingly apathetic way. It was "Did you know Paul knows how to kill a guy, like, seventeen different ways with his bare hands? I don't know if that's possible, but it's not like you can argue with a guy who says he can kill a guy seventeen different ways with his bare hands, you know?" and "He said I could come over and he'd show me. I mean, not like literally, _show me, _but you know. Teach me or whatever. I think he might've actually meant it, too. Isn't that weird?" and "Melanie went to the Comic Con a couple years ago and got to shake hands with Leonard Nimoy. Isn't that cool? I wouldn't have pegged her for a Trekkie, but she said she owns all three seasons of the original series plus most of the spin-offs. Except _DS9, _because she said the plot was too frustrating. Personally, I think she just wasn't a Sisko fan. But you probably know that already. But she also went to see Shatner in concert once, so you _know _she's a hard core fan…" and on and on.

I mostly listened. And the more I did, the harder it was to convince myself that he was okay. Which was the opposite of what he was going for, I knew. But I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be talking so maybe I wouldn't notice how little of his food actually went into his mouth. Or maybe the way his eyes were a little red and accented by the dark smudges beneath them. I had no doubt that he was every bit as enamored with Paul and Melanie as he let on, because I think he was talking to talk, and they were what first came to his mind. But I was also pretty certain something was wrong. Whatever that thing was when he'd spilled the orange juice would've been enough proof by itself.

"Hey."

He stopped mid-sentence in his monologue comparing and contrasting Paul and a G.I. Joe by going line by line through the theme song, pausing right in the middle of "Fighting for freedom over land and air." "What?" he asked quickly.

"You going to eat the rest of that?"

He looked down at his plate, most of the food still there. "Um. I don't think you should eat after me. Pneumonia really sucks."

"No, I don't want yours. I think you should eat yours."

"Oh. I'm full. You done?"

"Mmhm."

I watched him stand up and take both our plates to the sink. My garbage disposal enjoyed way more of Riley's meal than Riley had. What was with the kid? He'd been eating fine the day before. I took the remaining toast and eggs, put them on the same plate, and plastic-wrapped them to stick in the fridge. "Go sit down at the table, will you?" I told him.

"Why?"

"Sit, please."

"O-kay."

He sat. As soon as the food was in the fridge, I walked over and put my hand on his forehead. He sat back and sighed, rolling his eyes, but didn't try to shake off my hand.

"I'm fine."

His temperature did seem lower than it had the day before, but "I don't think I believe you."

"Why?"

"Because you were holding up four fingers earlier?" Okay, so I'd seen the reflection in the microwave door. But I really wasn't totally above letting him think I was just a little clairvoyant.

He rolled his eyes. "You saw my reflection in the microwave door."

Drat. "Well, it doesn't take a psychic to figure out something's up with you."

He crossed his arms, glaring up at me from beneath my hand. "Apparently."

"Why don't you go in there and lay down for awhile? I'll clean up." I used my hand to move his head up and down in a nod.

He finally pushed my hand away. "I don't need to lay down. I'll clean up. It's my mess. You go sit down. You look tired."

"_I _look tired?"

"Yep. Go on." He shooed me away with one hand. "Go. I got this."

I heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'm not done talking."

"And here's my surprised face." He looked exaggeratedly _un_surprised.

"Smart aleck." I stood and headed for the living room as he went for the sink. In the entryway, I had to stop and do a double take. My stuff. My research. It was gone. The coffee table was empty. Thinking back, I realized none of it had been there earlier, either. I'd just been so focused on getting the phone away from an infuriatingly independent computer geek I hadn't processed it. What in the world?

"Riley?"

His head popped around the corner. "Yeah?"

"Did you move my stuff?"

His face did something between a wince and a smile. "Yes."

"Where?" It came out kind of nervous.

"I'll show you if you want."

"I want." He led me into the little office next to the bedroom. It was just big enough for a desk with my laptop and my bookshelves. "Where's my research, Riley?"

He pointed to the laptop. "In there. I figured I could condense it for you, make it a little easier and a little less…all over your coffee table." He sat down at the desk and clicked into an icon on my desktop I was sure hadn't been there before. "You don't have a scanner, but I found most of the articles you'd printed off on the internet. They're all organized alphabetically by topic in this folder, and by title in this one because I wasn't sure which way you preferred. Most of the books you had open on the table are e-books. I found them online and bookmarked the pages for you." He pulled the bottom desk drawer open. That drawer used to have a stapler, a hole punch, and a package of hanging file folders…which had been unopened. Now there was just a row of files. "All the hard copies are still here. They're all organized into subsections of maps, coordinates, articles, and surveys." He swiveled the chair around and pointed to my bookshelves. "I redid your library so it's more like…a library. Fiction. Nonfiction. I'm assuming you know how that works. You have…a lot of books. So. I didn't exactly have the software to make you a catalog, but I opened a file and just made two lists, one with each book by title, and one with each book by author. It'll tell you where everything is. I didn't know what you were doing, so every book you had out is slid out a couple inches on the shelf with the page you were on bookmarked so you'll know where you were. But like I said, pretty much all of it's in here." He tapped the computer.

I think my mouth was hanging open. Good grief. He'd done all that this morning? It was like listening to Will Ferrell's character in that Christmas movie. I kept expecting him to turn around and say, "And I had time to build this rocking horse."

He shot a nervous glance up at me. "If you don't like it, I can fix it all back, though. It was just something to do. Figured I could save you some time."

It took me a second to make my mouth work. And even then, it didn't work exceptionally well. "Riley, this is…how did you…this must've taken forever."

He shrugged. "I type really fast."

"I…don't know what to say," I finally admitted.

He gave a silent "Oh," and told me, "Well, like I said, I can fix it back…"

"No," I said quickly. "No, I'm just…I can't believe you did this for me. Thank you. This is…huge. You looked up all that research?"

"You should really get a scanner."

I found myself grinning. "This is possibly the most unexpectedly incredible thing anyone has ever done for me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Really? Well…good."

"Riley, how long did this take you?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. I'm gonna go…finish with the kitchen." True to his word, he stood and left the room, but not before I caught the tiny smile on his face.

Alone, I sat at the desk and looked through everything he'd done. Walked around the room for a few minutes and saw a life's worth of books that had been dusted off and reorganized and given their own places on the oak shelves that had belonged to my grandfather. Novels on this shelf. Biographies on this other. All my reference material organized and in their own section. Something I'd been meaning to do since I'd moved in. It was incredible. Must've taken hours. Which amazed me to no end, but…why? Why would he do that? Because I already knew he couldn't possibly have gotten more than a couple hours of sleep last night. So…did he stay awake to do all that? Or maybe…did he do all that…_to_ stay awake? _It was just something to do. _That's what he'd said. I was sure he really did do it to help me out, but the fact that he was looking for a project in the middle of the night…. So, better question: Why didn't he want to sleep?

Wasn't really my business I suppose. If he wanted to spend his nights sneaking around fixing things in my home and cooking breakfast, that was his deal. So it would probably be a bad idea to even bring it up. Which is why I surprised myself when I stood next to him at the sink, rinsing dishes to put in the dishwasher, and the words, "You had a nightmare, didn't you?" came flying out of my mouth. I hadn't even realized I'd formed this hypothesis. But it made sense. Lack of sleep. Raw nerves. Midnight projects. …A painful conversation with a little girl…

A sharp intake of breath that had to have been painful was followed by his head jerking around toward me with round, shocked eyes that couldn't quite hold contact with mine. He quickly ducked his head and concentrated on scrubbing the skillet. "What are you talking about?"

"Last night. Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

"I'm fine."

"That was never the question. Though we can debate it if you want."

"I don't." He couldn't have been more closed off if he'd physically put up a cinderblock wall.

"Okay. I'm sorry. What you did in my office was great and unbelievable to the point where I'm not even completely sure how to thank you. But for good measure, thank you. It's just…you didn't have to do that, you know?"

Tense shoulders twitched upward in what I think was supposed to be a shrug. "You didn't have to do any of the stuff you did, either."

"I wanted to."

"Me, too."

"I believe you. I just…worry about you, I guess."

I saw him shoot a look at me out of the corner of his eye. "You haven't known me long enough to worry about me."

I almost chuckled. Pretty sure I'd have thought the same thing. Then I met Riley Poole. "You sure? So what exactly is the waiting period before worrying becomes acceptable? Like a week? Or is it like an hourly time-spent-together thing? 'Cause we've probably spent more time together in the past four days than most new friends do in a week. Had more worry-fueling experiences, too."

At the word "friends," he dropped the towel he'd been using in the sink. Which was fine, because that skillet was long since clean. Gripping the sides of the sink, he leaned forward so he wouldn't have to look at me. He didn't say anything for a very long moment, chewing at his lip. Until I finally heard a quiet "Yes."

I frowned. "Yes what?"

"Just…just yes. Whatever it is you need from me. Tell me what it is, and I'll do it. What is it you want, Mr.…"

"It's Ben, Riley," I cut him off. "Ben."

He gripped the sink harder. "What is it you want from me, Ben?"

I frowned, brow knitting. Geeze, he still…What was it going to take to make him get that "I don't want anything from you, Riley."

He finally turned cloudy blue eyes to me. "Then what am I doing here? Look, it's fine. You don't have to do this. Please. Just…just say it."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Something to make you make sense!"

"I don't know what that means!"

He pushed away from the sink, bringing both hands up to press the sides of his head, letting out a quiet groan of frustration. "Just…sorry. Sorry." He walked out of the kitchen, heading for the laundry room.

I followed right at his heels. "Where are you going?"

"To get my clothes. Thank you for this weekend. I had a lot of fun."

"Riley!" I grabbed his arm and yanked him around. Talking to this kid was like trying to solve a crossword without any clues. Except then I got a big ugly one.

He flinched back suddenly, instinctively ducking his face away. "Don't touch me!" Startled, I immediately released his arm, and he scuttled back several steps, hands clinching into painful fists, eyes wide and wild and only on my hands. And then he blinked.

He let out a shaky sigh that was maybe a little closer to a gasp and shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of it. He scrubbed a trembling hand through his hair and never looked at me once as he turned away. "I…Sorry. I didn't…I'm just going to go now…" He sounded like he was trying very hard to convince himself that what had just happened hadn't really just happened. He took a step.

"Riley." My voice froze him in place, hands twitching at his sides. I pressed my lips together. I had no idea what I was supposed to say. I couldn't just let him walk. He'd just scared me. What, had he really thought I'd hit him? I held in a helpless groan. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Still not turning to look at me, he answered slowly. "You're supposed to watch me go and shake your head but be kind of relieved, and sort of smile and wave when you see me around at school but not ever make it a point to talk to me beyond 'How you doing?' to which I'll answer 'Fine,' and keep walking because it would just be too awkward. And if there really is nothing you want from me, then you're supposed to scratch my name off your list of charity cases and move on to someone who really needs your help. 'Cause yeah. At this point, that's how this is supposed to work."

I clenched my jaw. Well, at least he'd given up on the pretense. That really was what he thought. That little… How was I supposed to make him understand? "Turn around."

His shoulders sagged and I think he just realized he'd said what he was thinking. And for Riley, apparently that was something he didn't think he was supposed to do. He took a deep breath that somehow managed to telegraph every bit of regret he was feeling. "Look…"

"_Turn_ _around_." My voice left absolutely no wiggle room. He turned slowly, eyes zeroed in on the carpet like maybe he was hoping the mysteries of the universe could somehow be woven into the fibers. "Look at me." Blue eyes flicked up reluctantly to meet mine. And I told him point-blank, "You can think whatever you want; that's your deal. But the fact is, you are my friend. Not entirely sure how that happened, but there it is. You don't like it, that's too bad. My family's been searching for a treasure without solid proof it exists for six generations. I've got stubborn in my blood. So if you're thinking you can walk out that door right now, and that's the end, and you never hear from me again, well, I've got news for you, kid. You've got some serious flaws in your reasoning." His eyes had found the floor again. "_Look_ at me." They shot back up, all but glaring me, jaw set in stubborn, uncertain defiance. "I can't make you talk, and I can't make you stay. But I need you to realize that both options are so open, and I want you to take them. But even if you don't, don't expect me to fade into the background. I've never been too wonderful at that."

He stared at me for a long moment, chest moving up and down visibly with each hard breath he took, and I could tell a lot of his mental processes were being used solely to will his eyes to stay on mine. The rest of what he was thinking, I have no idea. I was a little afraid he was going to chew his lip right off. Just when I thought he was going to blow me off, his shuttered eyes opened and blinked toward something on my shelf he decided to find particularly interesting. "Ben."

I'm not sure I've ever liked my name more. "Yes." That wasn't a question. It was an answer.

"My parents are dead." He said it like it made no difference whatsoever. His eyes screamed that it did.

"I know."

He nodded. "It screws up my sleep sometimes."

The pain. "You want to talk about it?"

He paused, reflexively debating whether or not I was serious, I'm sure. "No. But thanks though."

"Thanks for telling me about your parents."

He shrugged. "Sure." There was a moment where neither of us said a word, but his eyes met mine, and in a moment of absolute clarity, his face wrote out how terrified he was that I maybe cared. And the fact that he was still trusting me with even that little part of his past blew me away. _What happened to you, kid? Why are you so scared? _The moment was broken as he offered a little smile. "It's probably best that you know. I'm sort of a compulsive worker. Now you can stop me before I do something crazy. Like…color coding your DVDs or something. Which was next on my list of things to do."

My lips quirked. "My DVDs are already organized."

"Alphabetically?"

"By date."

"Psh. Should've figured that one out." He rolled his eyes and gave a small, awkward smile, and i'm sure he was attempting to forget everything he'd just said. "Well...I'm going to go get my clothes. I'll...be right back."

* * *

_Riley _

On a scale of one to confused, I was pretty much confused point nine. And I think he knew I was confused and that confused him. So basically we were just two very confused people who weren't entirely sure what to make of each other. So we did what all very confused people who aren't entirely sure what to make of each other do. We played chess.

I don't remember whose idea it was, but there we were with this really ancient chess set that was probably some sort of antique and was the kind of thing I was almost scared to touch because it could only end badly. He didn't look worried, though. I was back in my freshly washed jeans and sweater and felt better than anybody with pneumonia really has a right to. Especially anybody with pneumonia who was getting their butt handed to them in chess.

I winced as he took my queen with his castle thing. He grinned. It was…all part of my strategy. He was…getting cocky. Right. My move. "Bishop to rook's four."

"Knight to queen's three," he corrected.

"Or that."

He nodded and studied the board. "Hm. Didn't see that coming."

"In a good way?"

"…Sure." He smiled this teasing, condescending-type grin. "You're doing good."

"Give me a break. I've never done this before."

"Never?"

I shook my head. Was it really that weird? Although, I was a geek. Chess is kind of a geek thing. Stood to reason I should be like…grand poobah or...I don't know. Whatever you call a chess guy. "But I have seen _Searching for Bobby Fischer_, so I know what's going on." Yeah. I'd seen _The Pistol, _too. Didn't mean I could play basketball. "You a chess...guy?"

"Not really." His face got a kind of far away look and for a second, I think he wasn't really in the room. I didn't say anything, though. It looked like a good memory. And I have enough far away experience myself to know that snapping back to the present is usually disappointing. So I waited. He came back and had this pleasantly thoughtful expression. I waited again. He'd share if he wanted. Sure enough. "My grandfather taught me to play."

"You guys were close?" It sort of popped out before I could stop it. Stupid question. It was obvious they'd been close. And I could tell by the look on his face his grandpa was dead. Nice one, Riley.

He didn't seem to mind, though. "Yeah. He and my dad didn't see eye to eye. But then, that seems to run in the family."

Ouch. Might've hit a nerve there. I kept my head down and concentrated on the game. Deflection was usually good for times like these. "I had a grandpa. I don't remember him real well; he died when I was four. I do remember him teaching me how to make homemade ice cream, though. And it wasn't like one of those machines that turns the thing for you, either. We put it in a can and made a game out of rolling it back and forth—which I won, by the way. It must've taken awhile. Didn't really feel like it, though. But when it was done…wow. Pretty much the best thing I've ever put in my mouth." I glanced up and trailed off. He was sort of smiling. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Good story."

I blinked. "Your move."

He leaned forward, studying the board in front of him. "My grandfather is the one who told me about the treasure."

The treasure. This guy seemed to eat, sleep, and breathe it. I'd already figured out I was going to turn on the news one day, and he'd be sitting there telling the world about how he found it with the same you're-gonna-love-this excitement he had going when he told me the legend a couple nights earlier. Oh, mental note: buy a video tape.

But anyway, wow. His grandpa's the one who set him on the trail. They must've been close. "How old were you when he died?"

He looked surprised. I was kind of surprised myself. I really needed to learn to mind my own business. It just hadn't ever really been an issue before. But he answered. "I was twenty two."

I nodded and ducked my head. "Oh."

"How old were you when your parents died?"

"Six for Mom. Twelve for Dad."

He nodded and moved one of his little horses. "You hate talking about it."

"Yes. Well, I mean…I just…don't really. Nobody ever…" I trailed off, eyes focused on the game board, trying to figure out a way to end that sentence without sounding pathetic.

"Asked?"

I shrugged. Put my hand on a piece. Took it off. Went back to staring. Plenty of people asked. Usually it was "Aren't you one of those kids from the Home?" or "Foster care? What'd your parents do?" Not a lot of incentive there. "Nobody who really cared about getting an answer."

He sat back in the chair, and I realized I could hear him breathing. Weird. But when he spoke, he sounded fine. "You want to tell me about it?"

I seriously thought about it. Which freaked me out a little but in the end I gave my zillionth shrug of the day and told him, "Too much to tell. And I should really get back to school. I've got a paper due tomorrow that I haven't actually started." Not to mention, I'd already done the nightmare thing once that day. They didn't happen as often as they used to, but they still hit just as hard, and I knew I probably wouldn't have an appetite the rest of the day. Still made me nervous thinking about it. Reliving the story so the one guy on earth who actually seemed to give a care could feel sorry for me was not high on my wish list.

If he was disappointed, he didn't let it show. If he was relieved, he also didn't let it show. He just crossed his arms in front of his chest and said, "Fair enough." And I thought that was the end of it. Should've known better. Ben Gates doesn't get stuff like "the end of it." He's gotta keep digging and digging. "But before you go, there are some things I want to know."

I barely managed to hold in a groan. "Such as?"

"Why your roommate tried to kill you."

Forget left field. That was like, out of the park. "What? He didn't try to kill me! What are you…he was trying to scare me. Geeze, he's stupid, not crazy."

"Okay, fine. I'll buy that. But I'm not an idiot, Riley. There's something you're not telling me."

"Nothing really to tell," I deflected. "I mean besides what you already know." I couldn't look at him while I said it. The guy didn't deserve to be lied to. But then I was sparing him really. The truth just wasn't an option.

His tone as he spoke his next words made it painfully obvious that if I'd actually had the guts to look at him, I would've been able to see exactly how much he _wasn't_ buying it. "Right. His best friend was a jerk. You got him kicked out."

Score! That was the part that was true. Well, mostly. I looked up and offered him my best aw-shucks-you-got-me face. "See? You already know. Guess there's…nothing else to say. Is it my turn? Where'd you move?" He just looked at me with this real annoying penetrating gaze, and I knew he so knew I'd lied. I tried to look innocent. "What?"

"You really expect me to take you back there without knowing what I'd be taking you back to?"

"Of course not," I said, annoyed, shifting uncomfortably in my seat as I'm pretty sure I made an illegal move with a pawn. "I told you. I'll take the bus."

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, and I think he wanted to cuss a little. I seem to have that effect on people. He didn't cuss, though. He opened his eyes and stared straight into mine, almost daring me to look away. But if we were playing truth or dare, I was so taking the dare. Besides, there were so many interesting things to look at…like his blinds. The guy's window had some really nice…blinds. Not those plastic type ones. Nope. These were…wood.

"Hey," he said. "You want to look at me?"

I waved him off. "I'm good. Thanks." I'd have rather stuck my tongue to a stupid pole.

He sighed. "I just don't get why you're so adamant about keeping me out of the loop." Hello? That was kind of the point. "Why don't you just drop this guy? Get a new roommate."

"All housing is permanent for the semester after the first two weeks, barring extreme circumstances," I quoted.

"And this doesn't qualify as an 'extreme circumstances?'" Yeesh. He did the finger quotes and everything. Then he slid that piece that's tall and pointy that's not called a rook or a queen or a pawn or a knight over into my end zone. Or whatever.

"It'd be my word against his. Besides, all I have to do is stick it out for a few more weeks till semester ends. Everything'll work itself out. Trust me."

"I'd be easier if you'd return the favor." He said it all quiet and guilt-inflicting. But I reminded myself I was doing the guy a favor.

"I do trust you."

He didn't look like he believed me. "You do?"

"Sure. If I screw something up again, you'll be the first person I call."

Eyes squinting, he asked, "That's trust?"

I had a theory on that. People don't really trust each other. You'd have to like, love somebody to really trust them. Like with my parents. That was trust. Total trust. And that one sort of blew up in my face. But I figured he was talking about your average run-of-the-mill trust. Like, when you ask someone directions on the street and trust that they're not going to send you in the total opposite direction. So sure. Trust. "Yes," I answered. But to make sure, I still had to ask, "Isn't it?"

He kind of looked sad, and I realized I should probably quit asking questions like that, though I wasn't completely sure what I'd said wrong. I wondered what my deal was. I made good people sad and bad people mad. Shouldn't there be like some happy medium?

I looked down at the board, hoping for a change of subject. Oh. "I think I'm in check."

"You are in check."

"Okay. So…what do I do now?"

He held a finger to his mouth, studying the board, considering my dilemma, I guess. "Well, you've got a few options. You could concede."

"Give up?"

"Mm-hm."

Not a favorite option. I'd give up after I lost. Not a moment before. "What are my other options?" He almost smiled.

"You could try to get yourself out of it."

I liked that option way better. I had my hand on the king when he said "Or." I looked up. "Or…you could request a draw."

"A tie?"

"Right. You stop fighting me. I stop fighting you. We both win."

"Or you _could_ say neither one of us wins."

"You could say that. But neither of us loses. That puts us both ahead in my book."

"But why would you agree to a draw? We both know you're better than that. Say no to the draw, and you'll leave me in the dust."

"Well, you put up a good fight. You're just a little inexperienced. I'd be honored to call us equals."

I chewed on my lip for a minute. "But…we're not."

He shrugged. "I can teach you. It's what friends do."

I looked down at the board, then back up at him. I wasn't stupid. This was some kind of…object lesson, wasn't it? I knew what he was doing. He wanted me to let my guard down. Sorry, man. Wasn't going to happen. I wasn't even sure what that would feel like. I let my guard down, and it would just be asking for trouble. So, even if the idea wasn't totally unappealing, I was not going to break. Other people had friends. I had acquaintances. And it was better that way. I put my hand on the king and left it there. Started to move it. Stopped. I took a deep breath through my nose. "Okay. Let's draw." After all, I told myself, it was just a chess game. No point in being prideful.

He grinned and held out his hand. I shook it. "I accept."

"Good game."

"Likewise."

I paused for a minute. "I really should get back."

He sighed. "Grab your coat."

"It's your coat."

"Either way."

I went and got the borrowed jacket from the closet and slipped it on, zipping it up and pretending I wasn't nervous at all about going back to school. Like a weekend away had really changed anything. I would still be fine. I watched him slide his arms into his own jacket and grab his keys off the hook by the door. "You know," I said, "you really don't…"

"Riley. Please tell me you're not going to say what I think you're going to say."

"O-kay?"

"I'll drive you back. You don't really think I was completely talking just about the chess game a minute ago, do you?"

I offered a cheeky grin and opened the door. "Never really was one for sports metaphors."

* * *

_Ben_

I pulled up in front of his dorm and cut the engine. "Riley…"

"Hey." He cut me off and gave me a look and a half-smile. "Seriously. I'll be fine. I've been living here all semester. I doubt a few more weeks are going to kill me."

There was a lot of logic there. But none of it did anything to get rid of the bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. "If you need _anything…"_

"I've got your number." He smiled like he thought I was being ridiculous. It was a good attempt at making me feel better. Didn't really work, but I appreciated the effort.

"You have your pills?"

He pulled out the prescription bottle, giving it a good shake. "Check."

"Your inhaler?"

"Man, I've been doing this longer than you have. I've got it covered. Thanks."

"I don't like this." I meant it.

He gave a small smile and shook his head. "You really don't, do you?" He clicked off his seatbelt. "Thanks, Ben." He opened his door and pulled his guitar out of the back seat. "I'll see you tomorrow in Gilbert's class."

"Yeah. Be careful."

"Goodnight, Ben."

"Goodnight."

He grinned and shut the door, waving before turning and walking to the building without looking back. I watched him go and sat there, long after he'd disappeared inside. Waiting. Then I slowly started the car and pulled out, headed for home, trying not to think. I knew he'd probably be fine; knew he had to go back. But I couldn't shake the stupid, awful, overwhelming feeling that I'd just abandoned him.

* * *

A/N: Mmkay, next chapter should see many questions answered. 'Kay? I hope you had a fantastic Christmas, friend! 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: At the risk of sounding like a record, broken or otherwise, I love you guys! Your reviews just rock! Here's a quick update for you!

* * *

_Riley _

Sometimes being alone is nice. When you're alone, you can pretty much do whatever you want. What do you want to do tonight, Riley? Well, I'd like to run over to the library and do some research on time travel for that comp. project coming up. Then maybe head over to the student center and trick the TV into picking up Comedy Central in time to catch _Scrubs_. Then go back to the room, type up a paper, and hit the sack.

Then there are times when it's not so nice. What do you want to do tonight, Riley? Mostly I'd like quit running dialogs in my head. Geeze.

But it wasn't really a big deal, though. A few more weeks, and I could quit lying low. Everything would come out in the wash. Kent would be history, and I could tell Ben everything, 'cause Ben really liked history, anyway. And if he wasn't totally put off by the fact that I'd lied to him (something I refused to count on), then maybe it would be okay to…I don't know…be his friend. Like normal people did. I figured if he was desperate enough for a friend to find one in me after everything I'd managed to screw up in a few days, he must need somebody pretty badly. And he'd already done so crazy much for me…it was the least I could do.

It was the week before Thanksgiving break. So everybody was pretty much itching to get out of there. We just had until Friday. Then it was a week off for Thanksgiving. Then two more weeks of classes. Then the semester was over and everybody left for Christmas. Three more weeks until it was over. And one of those weeks, Kent would be gone for Thanksgiving. I could do two weeks in my sleep.

The first few days of the week went by pretty uneventfully. I saw Ben a bunch. He didn't just smile and wave. After classes on Monday, we went to lunch. Then grabbed a couple snow cones. Heh. And I had to tell him like fifty times that I was okay. Nothing happened. I hadn't even really run into Kent. I went into the room after he'd gone to sleep and got up before he did. And then on Wednesday, we met up with Paul and Melanie for this thing at their church. Paul did the music, and he said they could use a bass player for their praise band, which worked out really well, because I happened to play the bass. Go figure.

Kent showed up a couple times and tried to make me miserable. Stupid stuff. He did wind up finding my prescription, but it didn't really matter, 'cause I'd already recovered to the point where I was pretty sure I didn't need them anymore, anyway. And I guarded my inhaler with my life. I think he was getting antsy because I think he'd planned for me to have caved and dropped out, and with the end of the semester so close the fact that I was still around didn't fit in with his plans. But…that was my plan.

It was Thursday. I was going to the cafeteria to meet Ben for lunch after my eleven o'clock. Usually I pay more attention. Guess I was having an off day. I jumped as a hand landed on my shoulder and already had the "Geeze, Ben," on my lips before the hand tightened and spun me around to come fact to face with anti-Ben. "Hey, Poole."

"Kent." I had to talk myself out of being truly startled. "As horrible as it is to see you, I've got somewhere I'm supposed to be, so…"

"Listen to me." The fingers dug in further. He sounded different. "I just need to talk to you for a minute."

"Pass." I shot a look around to see if anyone was watching—no one was—and tried to pull out of his grasp. Nothing doing.

"Poole, I've got something to say; you're going to listen." His usual cool, condescending smile was gone. And that scared me a little. "Tomorrow everybody leaves for break. You're not going to come back."

I gave him my best clueless grin. "That's cute, Kent. Seriously, I have to go…"

His other hand whipped around and clamped down on my other arm with a shake that shut me up. "You're not listening to me. I'm going to say this once, you little freak." His voice was low and truly dangerous. "You're going to swear to me right now that tomorrow you are going to leave and never come back."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't do that, I swear to you I will make sure your life is not worth living. So you're going to go to the business office, and you're going to tell them that you're not coming back. You're going to sign whatever you have to sign, and you're going to haul your worthless butt off this campus, and I am never going to have to think about you again."

I pretended to look disappointed. "So…does this mean you're not wearing the friendship bracelet I gave you for your birthday?"

He growled, hands going painfully tight. "Drop out!"

I raised my chin and met his glare head-on. "Drop dead."

Desperate eyes widened in surprised anger. He wouldn't hurt me, though. Not in broad daylight. I knew that much. I saw him take a deep breath through his nose. "Where are you going right now?"

"Lunch."

"Skip it. We need to talk."

"I'm meeting someone there."

He snorted and started walking, hand still doing a great impression of a vice around my upper arm. "Yeah, right."

I resented that. But I had more pressing issues to worry about. Mostly the one hustling me in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. "Kent, let me go. I'm serious." I dug my feet in, but he yanked me forward. I'd have some ugly looking bruises around my arm, I knew. Good thing it was sweater season.

"Don't make a scene. Come on. I just want to talk to you."

"Kent…"

There was a sudden movement and I almost lost my balance as the hand around my arm was suddenly wrenched off. I looked up to see a blur of blue sweater and familiar cord jacket and had to blink as Kent found himself pinned between the brick wall of the sci building and the fists of a really, really mad old guy.

"Whoa…what the…Who are you?"

"Ben Gates. Been waiting to meet you, actually. Now I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't…" One hand fisted in Kent's jacket tightened. The other loosened. Oh, shoot.

"Ben! Stop!"

I grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him away, stepping between them and backing Ben up with two hands on his chest. The guy wasn't looking at me, though. He was looking at the guy behind me with the most furious expression I'd ever seen on his face. "Take it easy."

Kent spoke up from behind me. "Whoa, man. We were just talking. What's your problem?"

Ben took a step forward, and I pushed him back again. "Hey. Quit it. Knock it off, Ben; I'm fine. Everyone here's fine."

His jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it would shatter. "This is the guy isn't it?" He was nodding while he spoke. "This is the guy."

"Ben, stop. Calm down." I turned around and looked at Kent who was glaring at Ben and straightening his jacket. "I think it would be a very good idea if you left right now."

"What'd you do, Poole? Go out and buy yourself a body guard?"

I gave half a laugh. "What, for you? You give yourself way too much credit, Bishop." Man. I really _can't _let someone else have the last word.

With a final glare and a headshake, he raised his chin and walked, bringing his hand back to rub the back of his head, and I wondered how hard Ben had pushed him into that wall. Complications. I closed my eyes and turned slowly to look at Ben. He was watching the guy go. I stepped into his line of sight, dropped my shoulders, and grinned like nothing was wrong. "So. Lunch? It's tuna melt day, right?"

He finally looked at me. And he still looked really ticked. Geeze, what the heck did I do? "Riley. You want to tell me what that was?"

I blinked. "What what was?" He glared. I tried again. "Nothing. Talking. We were talking. Like he said."

"He had you by the arm, Riley. I saw your face. You really believe I'm going to buy that was just two friends chatting it up?"

"I never said he was my friend."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?"

I dropped my gaze and bit my lip. He really was mad at me. Great. Fantastic. Brilliant. But I could salvage this. Trusty fallback number one: "I'm sorry."

I heard him sigh. It was a frustrated sigh. Not what I was going for. "No, I'm not…mad at you, Riley. I'm mad at that guy. I'm worried about you."

Oh. Well. Trusty fallback number two: "It's not a big deal…"

"Riley." He cut me off and waited for me to look up at him. I sighed through my nose and raised my eyes, 'cause I knew he actually wouldn't speak until I did. "This is a big deal." He looked ticked again, and I thought maybe I should scratch number two off the list and just stick with old faithful.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

I blinked. For what? What kind of a question was that? It wasn't enough that I was just sorry? I had to know what I was supposed to be sorry for, too? There was just no pleasing this guy. He'd just shot down both of my trusty fallbacks. I silently mourned the death of old faithful. If sorry wasn't going to work, I was fresh out of ideas. "I…um…We're going to…miss…lunch. If we don't go. And…it's…tuna today, you know. ...Yum." One of the lamest deflections in the history of the entirety of my life.

I started walking toward the cafeteria. To my relief, he fell into step beside me. "What'd he want?"

"I don't know. Just said we needed to talk."

"You didn't want to go."

"He's a boring conversationalist. Nothing like you. Tell me that story again. The one about the, what was it? Oh, the reason Lincoln decided to grow that beard he had. That one was fascinating." That got a little grin out of him. I swear the guy knows the weirdest stuff about history.

"Because you fell asleep the first time?"

"I'm sure the climax was much more exciting than the intro."

"How about we switch things up and you tell me a story?"

"Sure. Once upon a time…"

"Riley."

"This is how normal people start their stories, Ben. Once upon a time, there was a king named…Briley. Who was handsome and loved by all. He had a personality clash with a peasant named Tent, who was dumb and/or lowly. And King Briley's…historian, Fen, blew it all out of proportion."

He didn't look impressed. Maybe a little amused. But not impressed. "So how does it end?"

"Uh…they all lived happily ever after? Except for Tent who got eaten by the Loch Ness Monster—proving she does in fact exist—at the end of the semester. And then came the living and the happily ever after and all that jazz. And, I don't know, there was probably a sunset for our intrepid heroes to walk off into or something. The end. I'm hungry."

It may be hard to believe, but I made that whole thing up on the spot. Yeah. I know.

"Sure Fen didn't just throw a rock at his head?"

That surprised a laugh out of me. "You weren't really going to hit him back there, were you?" I was kind of curious.

He paused for a moment, and instead of the "Of course not" I expected, he said very simply, "Conceivably."

I stopped walking, a little stunned. He kept going. "Conceivably?" I called after him. "What kind of answer is that? Ben? You don't say 'Conceivably' to a question like that. Hey!"

"And by the way, 'fen' is actually a word that is the equivalent to 'swamp' or 'bog.' That's not insulting at _all_," he called over his shoulder.

What the heck? As I jogged to catch up with him, I couldn't help but grin a little. He almost hit a guy.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNT

That night Paul invited a bunch of people over to his house for a game night type thing. I got an invite.

We ended up playing Apples to Apples, which I'd never heard of but was a really fun game. I got to meet his wife and kids, too. They were really nice. His wife, Jana, made this dip that was intensely good. She found out I "had pneumonia" and decided the best cure had to be to feed me within an inch of my life. Which I didn't actually mind, because everything she insisted I eat was crazy delicious.

There were three kids. Two guys, Brennan and Collin, and a girl, Rachael. Brennan was a year younger than me. Rachael was fourteen. Collin was eight. Melanie was there, too, and the guys from praise band. So I spent an evening I should've spent working on a paper for Philosophy sitting in a warm home on an overstuffed couch between Ben and Melanie, laughing way more than I'm used to because was Ben trying to cheat by guessing who put down what card, and then there was Melanie teaming up with me against Ben and Paul taking like five minutes _every _time he took his turn, to which his kid, Brennan, complained "It seriously takes him less time to do 200 pushups," which I had no trouble believing at all.

As I left, Paul hugged me. I'm not a big hug guy, but Paul was definitely a _big _hug guy, so I let him. "Take care of yourself, kid. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Thanks. Happy Thanksgiving."

He grinned and took a pretend swing at me. "Keep your hands up."

I ducked and smiled back. "And swing from the shoulder. I got it." He clapped me on the shoulder.

"You're all right." I'd grinned. I was feeling pretty all right.

Ben dropped me off in front of my dorm like always. I went and tugged on the main door. It was locked, which was weird because they usually don't lock the doors until midnight, and it was like half past ten. I shrugged and headed around for the back. If that didn't work, I'd have to go around to the security booth and call the RD. If no one was there, I'd call Ben 'cause he'd be mad if I didn't. As I approached the back, I thought I heard a sound behind me to my right. I started to turn, but it was too late. There was a sudden explosion of pain at the back of my skull and everything turned a blinding white then went scary black. I don't remember anything else.

* * *

_Ben_

I saw him disappear around to the back after the front door didn't work. I frowned. That was odd. These buildings weren't supposed to be locked up, yet. I cut the engine and got out of the car, following him around the side of the building. What I saw made my heart jump up into my throat. A man had come up behind Riley, and as I watched in horror, he smashed the kid over the back of the head. I will never _ever _forget that sound as long as I live. The dull thunk followed by a short cry that seemed to be ripped from his throat and cut short. Then Riley's body landed on the grass without hardly making any noise at all. I felt my blood rush to my face as I shouted, "Hey!" and started marching forward, not completely sure what I was going to do.

The man turned, eyes widening in surprise. Bishop. "You."

I kept walking toward him, clenched fists raising. "_You." _

He looked frightened for a moment; then his face hardened, and I saw a flash of metal and realized what he'd hit Riley with. It was a handgun. And its barrel was pointed at my chest. He held it on me, eyes like stone. "Stop. Don't move."

I forced myself to pull up, coming to a stop a few feet away. "What, you're going to shoot me?" I'd never heard my voice sound that way. I was seething.

"Don't make me."

"You keep going with whatever this is, you're throwing your life away."

His hand tightened on the gun as a small tremor ran through him. "You take another step, you're doing the same thing."

"Listen to me. You're going to lower that gun. I'm going to take my friend. And then I suggest you run." Not that it would do much good.

He let out a breath through his mouth. "I don't think you realize what you're dealing with, Mr. Gates." Two men stepped out of the darkened overhang of the doorway. One I recognized as the orangutan from class. The other I'd never seen before. He was tall with dark hair and gray eyes. The orange one also held a gun. The dark one didn't look like he needed one.

"This wasn't part of the plan, Kent," the orange one said through his teeth.

" Qué vamos a hacer?"

"Shut up. This…this works." He motioned toward me with his gun, looking like he was desperately trying to improvise. He had the appearance of a man who was in way over his head. And those are the times men become the most dangerous. "You want him? You carry him."

I looked down at the unconscious form on the ground and tried to keep my voice level as I met Bishop's eyes. "What do you want?"

The hammer was pulled back with an audible click. "I want you to do what I say before someone gets hurt. Move. Now."

I slowly reached down, mind spinning with questions, and pulled Riley over my shoulder. He was dead weight, but I could feel him breathing, and I prayed he had his inhaler with him. I hefted him up and stood glaring, waiting for further instruction.

I was hustled to a car where I sat between Riley and the tall one, Riley's head on my shoulder. This was not a college prank. This was something much, much bigger. And much deadlier. I looked down at my friend's face. He was oblivious, it seemed, to everything. _What have you gotten yourself into, kid? _I wondered, trying to will my heartbeat to slow. _And why couldn't you tell me?

* * *

_

_Riley _

As my mind started clawing its way toward consciousness, the first thing that ripped into my awareness was how completely awful I felt. Every time my heart beat, it was like taking a mallet and slamming it down right on the pain center of my brain. Nobody told me pneumonia comes with headaches. This sucked. Plus, I don't know if it was just the pain, but I felt really nauseated and just sort of miserable. And cold. It was really cold. I wasn't sure where I was, but I bet if Melanie was there, she'd have that Lion's Choice soup. I don't know why I knew this, but it seemed logical. Like if I got my eyes to open, she would just be there and have that soup, and it'd be hot and make my stomach less rebellious. And I wouldn't even have to say anything because Ben would know I have a headache, because even if he didn't really know how many fingers I had behind my back, I swear the guy's part psychic because he always just _knows_ stuff.

I realized my legs were the coldest. They were on something hard and freezing because the cold just sort of seeped up through my jeans. But the top of me wasn't that bad. My back was against something warmer and kind of soft. It was all very disorienting, and I kind of wanted to go back to sleep because there's usually not much too disorienting about being unconscious save for the occasional nightmare. But if Ben and Melanie were waiting with soup and Tylenol, it would be rude to keep them waiting. And I needed to tell Ben that wherever we were was too cold.

I managed to pry my eyes open into slits. Wherever we were was dimly lit with a kind of yellowish light, but even that much made my head mad the same way a knife through my skull would probably make my head mad. I shut them tight and groaned. Then I heard a familiar voice right by my ear. "Hey. You waking up?"

Ben. He was there. And he'd have pills or something. I tried to sit up, but something was holding me down. Whatever it was got tighter, and I started struggling, trying to get it off. But then Ben's voice was back. "Easy, Riley. It's just me. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head. How you feeling?"

I convinced my eyes to open again and stared around the room. This wasn't my dorm. It wasn't even Ben's apartment. We were in a small concrete room, basement probably, a bare bulb on the ceiling as the only source of light. I realized Ben was sitting back against the wall. I was propped up against his chest, his arms wrapped around my torso offering some relief from the really low temperature of the room. I felt panic start to build. Something was really wrong.

"Riley?" Ben sounded worried. Why was he so worried? He jostled me a bit. "Hey. You still with me?"

Oh yeah. He'd asked a question, hadn't he? But how I was feeling seemed pretty unimportant at that moment, though. So I answered him with two questions of my own. "What happened? Where are we?"

"We…" He sounded like he almost didn't want to tell me. "We're in a basement several miles outside of town. You were attacked on your way into your dorm last night by your roommate and two other guys. The orange one from Gilbert's class and a tall guy who spoke Spanish. I surprised them. They had weapons."

My breath quickened. Oh shoot. This couldn't be happening. No. And Ben was here…they got Ben. "They took you at gunpoint?"

"I'm fine."

I shook my head and sat up and away from him in a panic, making the pain in my skull intensify as the world spun dizzyingly.

"Whoa! Whoa, easy, big guy. Calm down."

I shook my head, which was indeed a bad idea. "No. No, I have to…I'm sorry, Ben. This is all my fault. I didn't think…Ben, you're not supposed to be here!"

The room tilted to one side, which was really confusing until I realized that I had been the one tilting to one side, but the arms were back, and I got pulled back against his chest. My lungs hurt. "Easy. Slow down. We're going to be okay. You have a concussion. You need to just be still for a little while. Breathe, buddy."

He sounded so…infuriatingly calm. "Ben," I breathed. "You can't be here."

"You're here," he said, like that was an argument.

"This is my…"

"Riley. We're both here. I want to get us out. So shut up and tell me what's going on."

"Can't do both," I retorted automatically.

"Riley."

I sighed and dropped my head, glad he was behind me so I wouldn't have to look at him. "I'm…so sorry," I whispered. "This is my fault, Ben."

"I doubt that," he answered gently. "What are those guys after?"

"I didn't think…I didn't think he'd go this far. But he's not…not a murderer. He's just a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar." That had to be true. But now he was carrying guns? This was so messed up. I hadn't even known Kenny and Juan were in on it. I'd miscalculated hugely. And it wasn't just my life anymore. It was Mister…geeze, it was Ben's.

"Tell me what happened, Riley. Please."

I shut my eyes. I'd dragged him into this. He had to know, now. "Kent...he had a scam going with his friend, Jason. Jason worked in the school's bookstore. He was a good hacker, and he managed to get into the system and change the prices on textbooks. Every textbook that was purchased for this semester went through that bookstore. By raising the prices a few dollars, they managed to accumulate…I don't even know how much. Probably thousands. We've got over ten thousand students here. If each one bought five books for this semester, and Jason tacked on an extra ten bucks per book, that's half a million right there. It could be more."

I felt Ben stiffen. "Why is he after you, Riley?"

I sighed. "I…I overheard Kent and Jason talking about it. I didn't really know what to do, so I sent an anonymous tip to the administration, and they caught Jason because they could tie him directly to the problem, but he wouldn't talk so they had no idea what happened to the money. Jason got kicked out and arrested. The faculty kept it quiet, hoping to find out who Jason's accomplice was. I had no proof that it was Kent. But I figured out the money had to be hidden under his student account. Just sitting there. But now he can't withdraw it because it would be like signing a confession."

"So he's after you because he knows you got Jason caught and you know about the money?"

"No, he doesn't know it was me. Nobody does."

"Then why…"

"Because I'm his roommate. The accounts for a private room and a semiprivate room are coded differently. If his account got switched to a private-housing account with the bank, he could disguise the funds easily enough by dividing them up and labeling it as outside scholarship money. As soon as that happened, he could transfer it to an outside account. Nobody would know."

"And housing is permanent until semester ends," he realized.

"Yeah. If someone's roommate drops out, though, then that person has two options. He can either find a new roommate, or accept an increase in housing charges and pay for the now-private room. The only way he gets off is if I drop out."

"Which is why he's been torturing you."

"He thinks I'm just some idiot without a clue. He doesn't know I know. I guess he expected me to give up and pack it in a long time ago. Not counting break, we've got two weeks left. At the end of the semester, when everything gets paid off and everything has to be accounted for, they'll find the extra money. There's no way he can hide that much in a regular student account."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked quietly.

"I…didn't want to get you involved." Fantastic job on that one, Riley. Top notch.

He paused for a long time, and I suddenly wished I could see his face. Because then maybe I'd know what he was thinking. Probably that he'd made a huge mistake. No way was I worth this. He was probably realizing that. I took a deep breath and sat up again. "Look…"

I almost jumped in surprise as he caught me around the shoulders and guided me back down. "Quit moving around, will you? You're fine. Now let's just think this through. We're going to figure something out."

I found myself having to take a deep breath as stupid tears I blamed on the concussion heated my eyes up. What was it going to take for this guy to walk? I kept telling myself it was coming, and he kept proving me wrong. I was getting way too used to this. "Yeah," I swallowed. "Yeah. Okay."

"And from here in, I need to know everything. Not just the stuff you think I can handle. If you have a problem, I want to know about it."

"Before we end up being held against our will by three gun-wielding, antisocial MIT undergrads again? 'Cause I swear this doesn't happen as often as you might think."

"Tell me you get my point."

"I get your point. I really didn't think it would go this far, Ben. I didn't mean…"

"I know. It's not your fault."

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure. What do you think Kent's plan is? What are we doing here?"

It was a question I was really scared to think about. I knew Kent was a jerk. Knew he could care less about me. But I truly did not think he'd pull something like this. I figured when it became clear he was going to get caught, he'd run. I guess it was naïve or something, but seriously. What was he going to do?

"I don't know. What time is it? Is it morning?"

"Yeah. About 6:30."

We heard some noise outside the door. Footsteps on a wooden staircase. "Can you stand?" Ben asked quickly.

I nodded, and he used the wall to lever us both up. My vision swam for a second, the pounding in my head getting impossibly worse. I thought I was going to be sick. "Take it easy. Close your eyes and just breathe," came the whisper from beside me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took his advice. "Psychic."

"Geek."

I gave half a laugh right before the door opened. Ben had his hand on my forearm. I guess in case we had to run or I decided to pass out. Kent, John/Juan, and Kenny came in, and I would've had to be a complete moron not to see the guns tucked into their waistbands. I swallowed. "So which one of you hit me?"

"That would be me." Kent said. He was cool and calm again. He believed he had me. Oh wait. He did.

"Really? Don't you usually get the Orangutan to do that sort of thing for you? Kenny, that doesn't insult you?"

"It _is_ my turn," Kenny growled.

"Take your best shot, Schweetheart." He and Ben took a step forward at the same time.

"Come on, now, gentlemen," Kent said blithely. "Poole, you may be wondering why I called this secret meeting."

"Let me guess. You want me to drop out?"

"Always did think you were the bright one."

"Trust me, I did, too."

"So you'll do it, then?"

I bit my lip. Didn't look at Ben as I shrugged. "Let my friend go, and I'll do it."

Kent gave me a look. I don't know what Ben did. I still didn't look at him. I did feel his hand tighten on my arm, though. "So he can go to the police?"

"Hey, bringing him along was your idea, not mine. Just drop him off somewhere. Take me back to school. I'll go to the office and do whatever it is you want me to do. Then I'll get his car and go back for him. Everyone wins. No one gets hurt."

Kent seemed to chew it over for a minute. Then he looked at Kenny and nodded to him. Kenny gave a crooked grin and took a step forward. Oh boy. This was probably going to hurt. John grabbed Ben as he tried to move forward, and Kenny had nothing stopping him from landing a vicious uppercut to my stomach. I doubled over as all the air was ripped from my lungs, and I staggered till I felt my knees hit the floor. I couldn't breathe.

"Hey! What the heck was that? Come on!" I could hear Ben shouting. But my lungs wouldn't work. Two hands caught me roughly by the front of my jacket and I was back on my feet and jerked back into the wall.

"Or here's a better idea." Kent's face was inches away from mine as I struggled to get air into my lungs, thinking dying probably couldn't feel a whole lot worse than this. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you to do. You don't get to throw around orders this time, Poole."

I finally managed to get a few mouthfuls of air to starving lungs. They were well-spent on "Kenny, you're the…psych major. Tell me, these sort of...deep-seated issues. Is this…healthy?"

Kent's eyes turned to steel, and his grip tightened. He told me very plainly. "I'm going to hurt you."

"I understand that." I really did.

I braced myself for the pain, but instead of Kent's grip going tighter, he released me completely and I had to catch myself on the wall. I looked up at Kent as he backed his way toward Ben, eyes cold and never once leaving mine. What was he doing? A sudden sense of dread knotted my stomach. "Maybe you'll care more if it's someone else's pain." _No. _

He turned around and swung his fist, catching Ben right in the jaw, snapping his head around. No! "Stop!" John held Ben's arms as Kent hit him in the stomach once. Twice. Another head shot. "Kent, stop!" I tried to get there, to stop him. Kenny stepped up and caught me. I _fought_. "Leave him alone! He didn't do anything!" I threw my head back and felt it connect with Kenny's mouth. The guy's grip slackened as he swore. I didn't hesitate. I ran toward Ben. I was inches away, when I got pulled up short and flung around. I didn't even have time to put my hands up.

The blow landed like a sledgehammer below my eye, hard enough to cut the inside of my cheek across my teeth. I don't remember falling. I remember landing, though, as my head rang and my mouth filled with blood.

It was a miracle I managed to hang onto the frazzled edges of consciousness. I heard Kent grab onto Kenny and push him against the wall. "You idiot! You weren't supposed to touch his face!"

"Little punk just busted my lip open!"

"He's going to walk into the office looking like that? What, you think no one's going to _notice_?"

I couldn't really move, but I couldn't hear Ben. And it scared me. I spit out blood as a wave of nausea washed over me. I was going to be sick. No fighting it this time. I managed to force myself up on my hands and knees before my abused stomach rebelled and I retched hard, my stomach cramping all up. When I was finally done, I rolled over away from the mess. Kent and Kenny were sending me disgusted looks as Kenny tried to slow the blood running from his freshly split lip. Juan looked indifferent. Ben looked…hurt. I had to get over there.

Kent looked at Kenny. "We need to talk."

Kenny nodded and motioned to Juan or John, or whatever the heck his name was, and the Spaniard followed them out. As soon as the door clicked shut, I crawled over to Ben. I was shaking really bad all over and could feel the scared sweat trickle down my back, despite how cold the room was. Ben was pushing himself off the hard floor, leaning back against the wall. There was a cut across his bottom lip, and his face was starting to swell up. I reached him and stopped just short of touching him. What if he was hurt inside? "Ben. Ben, I'm so, so sorry. I'll…I'll do what they want. I'll do it."

He reached up and swiped clumsily at a tear on my face I'm going to say had to have been forced out from being sick. "Are you okay?" he breathed.

I had to shut my eyes. Shut 'em tight. Guy just took a beating for me. For me. No one had ever, _ever_ done that for me before. And Kent was right. It hurt way worse than anything else he could've done. I shook my head. "Ben, what are you doing here?" I whispered as my eyes got hotter and wetter. I didn't cry. This was crazy. I didn't cry. "You're not supposed to be here." He wasn't. It was supposed to just be me. I could take it. Whatever they wanted to dish out, I could take it and had probably taken worse. But watching this guy get hurt because of me…I didn't know how to take that.

"Open your eyes, Riley." I did. He was looking at me. I could see pain around the edges, but through and through there was a strength and conviction there that I didn't even know what to do with. But I couldn't look away. He held out his hand. "You and me. We're in this together. We're going to make it out okay. It's going to be fine."

I found myself nodding as I took his hand and we shook before I found myself in a hug I didn't really have the heart to pull out of. "Okay," I whispered into his shoulder. "Let's draw."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Happy New Year!! And thanks guys!

* * *

_Ben_

We sat shoulder to shoulder in the room, and I realized Riley's eyelids were starting to droop. Not good. I knew I couldn't let him fall asleep with that concussion. He'd been unconscious long enough to scare me earlier, but I'd checked the lump at the back of his head. It was raised rather than indented, which was a good sign. But I had to keep him awake. I slowly raised myself up, ignoring the various parts of me that protested. "All right, let's look around. You want to help me out?"

He nodded and took my offered hand as I pulled him up. "Okay, you check the door and these walls. I'll look over here, and we can try to put together some plan to get out of here." I knew exactly what we would find. Nothing. I'd already been all over the room a dozen times while Riley was unconscious. But it was something to keep him occupied and awake and gave me the quiet I needed to think.

Our situation, unsurprisingly, did not look good. Half a million dollars. If it really was that much money on the line…a lump of fear sat uncomfortably in my gut. That much money could make a man do stupid things. I didn't know Kent Bishop, didn't know how far he was willing to go. He had never once, to my knowledge, said outright, "Do this or I'll kill you." He'd alluded to it, made plenty of other threats of harm, but he'd never said the words. Hopefully that was a good sign.

"You didn't happen to bring a few sticks of dynamite, did you?" Riley asked from his spot by the door.

"Must've left them in my other pants," I replied automatically, tapping on one of the walls.

"Cripes." We were silent for several minutes. "Ben, you've been in this room for hours. What is it you think we're going to find?"

As I said. He was a bright one. Too darn bright. I couldn't lie to him. "Nothing. But that's the point of looking. On the off-chance that I'm wrong."

He sent me this uncertain look. "When's the last time you were wrong?"

"This afternoon." At his questioning look, I went ahead and finished the thought. "When I didn't knock that guy's lights out."

He actually giggled and went back to the door. Pressing his ear against it, he listened, blue eyes zoning out as he moved all available brain power to his sense of hearing. Looked like he quit breathing. I tilted my head to one side. Walking up next to him, I pressed my ear against the smooth, white-washed wood. I couldn't hear anything. "What do you…"

He cut me off with a raised index finger. He went back to listening. This went on for a few minutes, his eyes widening, it seemed, with every passing moment. Finally, he jerked his head back. "They're coming back," he whispered. A moment later I heard a door open and their feet on the stairs.

I shot Riley a look. "Thank you, Radar O'Reilly."

"Just 'Riley' will be fine." Despite the glib response, his eyes looked panicked, darting around the room fast enough to make me dizzy. Then they landed on the ceiling.

"How'd you hear that?" I asked.

"Spent a lot of time in basements growing up," he answered quickly. Without a word, he walked to the center of the room and jumped up, grabbing the brown metal of the small vent cover. Took him another hop to pull it down. The vent wasn't more than four inches by eight inches. I wasn't sure what he thought he could get out of a hole that small. Until I realized he wasn't interested in the hole in the ceiling. He just wanted that metal grate. That sharp metal grate. He slid it up the sleeve of his coat. He looked like he was trying not to look as frightened as he looked.

That worried me. "Did you hear something else? Riley?"

He shook his head, whether in a negative response or just to get me to stop talking I couldn't be sure. In either case, I didn't have time for any more questions. The door opened. Riley took a step forward, standing next to me, body slightly angled so he could watch me and the men at the door at the same time, hands fisted lightly at his sides.

Our captors, such as they were, stood in the doorway. Guns were drawn. It was Bishop who spoke. He seemed angry. Nervous. "We're going to school. Somebody asks you about that black eye, you tell them you got it in a flag football game."

Riley raised an eyebrow. "'Cause no one's going to have a hard time believing that…"

"Shut up." He did. "You are going to go to admissions and sign yourself out of this school. Your friend will stay with us. And if you do not do this…" There was a click as the gun cocked and the barrel was pressed into my chest.

"Okay. Okay, stop. I'll do it." Riley reached out slowly and pushed Kent's arm down. "I'll do it."

I shook my head. "Riley…"

"I'll do it," he said firmly, meeting my eyes. Then he looked at Kent. "What happens when I come out? He's not like me, Kent. People are gonna know if he goes missing too long."

When Kent didn't answer right away, Kenny spoke up. "Quit being so dramatic. You do what I want, then you walk away. We could care less what you do so long as we never hear from you. You want to call the police? Fine. Right now the three of us are at a pre-Thanksgiving party with a dozen witnesses. You couldn't do anything to us if you wanted to."

Riley nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Kent who suddenly seemed even edgier. "Fine," Riley said. "You wanting to go now?"

Kent stared at him for a long time. Again it was Kenny who answered. "Offices don't open till 8:00. It's seven now. We leave in half an hour. That going to work for you?"

"We'll try to squeeze it in," I answered when neither Riley nor Kent looked up from the staring contest they seemed to have going.

Kenny noticed it in his partner. He nudged Kent. "So come on."

"He knows," Kent whispered darkly. He was still looking Riley straight in the eyes. "You know."

Riley crossed his arms. "Know what?"

Teeth grinding, Kent's gun was suddenly pointed at Riley's chest. "Tell me what you know. Everything. Right now."

Riley's posture tightened, but he didn't even uncross his arms. "Everything I know?"

"Talk! Now!"

_Don't say something stupid. _"Well…my first word was 'crayon'…" Kent's face reddened as his hand tightened on the gun. I reacted. I grabbed Riley and turned him away at the same time I saw Kenny's arm flash out and knock the gun up. It discharged. I ducked and covered Riley's head, shielding him and shutting my eyes as the overhead light bulb exploded and the room shook with the sound as shards of hot glass rained down. There was a moment of silence before the shouting began.

"Kent, what are you _doing_?"

"I…I didn't mean…you hit my hand!"

"'Cause it looked like you were about to pull the trigger!"

"Qué ha hecho tú? Tú no los puede matar ahora!"

I eased slowly back from Riley. The only light in the room now came from outside the door, so it was harder to make out the look on his face. But to miss the size of his eyes would've been impossible. "You okay?"

He nodded automatically, looking shaken but otherwise in one piece. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"He just…"

"It was an accident." I prayed it was. It better have been. People shooting guns that early in the game could only mean someone was going to get hurt. It was my job to make sure that wasn't Riley. Or myself.

"He knows, Kenny! Don't you get that? He knows!"

"You don't know that!"

"Tell me you can't see it!"

"Even if he does, it doesn't change anything!"

Kent stopped and bit his lip, throwing a look over in our general direction. Without another word, he turned and started up those stairs. The tall one went with him. Kenny gave us one last glare before slamming the door shut.

"Wait!" Riley called, moving toward the door before the room was plunged into darkness. I heard a sharp intake of breath. I moved toward it, my hand coming into contact with his jacket-clad shoulder. He yelped and flinched back, and I heard the crunch of broken glass as he quickly stepped back away from me. I could hear his breathing quicken in the eerie blackness.

"Riley?" I asked cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Sorry," came the slightly wheezy reply. I heard him take a puff from his inhaler. "Just…mm. Yep. Fine." He sounded anything but. I could hear him moving along the wall.

I took a step toward him, fine shards of glass crunching beneath my shoes. Another gasp. "Ah, actually. Could you just…just stay. Where you are. Don't move." He sounded borderline terrified.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I just…need some space." His voice was too quiet. I saw his form move in front of the door, contrasted by the faint streak of light that shone from beneath it. I realized I could hear my heart beating. Frozen where I stood, I watched him sit down right beside the door, knees pulled up close to his chest. I saw his hand land in that little stream of light and stay there for a minute, like he was drawing comfort from that tiny break in the darkness. He was suddenly breathing very slowly. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Each lasting a three count.

"Riley?" I asked softly, and I watched his hand jerk. I had to swallow around a suddenly dry throat. "How much time did you spend in basements growing up?"

He slid that vent cover out of his sleeve and began working at the metal flaps. "Just one placement. I wasn't there that long. It was just a pretty freaky basement." I could hear the undertones of fear in his voice even then.

I was glad he couldn't see me. I have no idea what my face must've looked like then. But I know my insides were screaming. "How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

Sixteen. That would've been two years ago. I was reminded suddenly how painfully young my young friend was. I took a step forward. The moment I did, the glass making that cursed crunch, Riley jumped, losing his grip on the vent cover as his hands automatically came up, back pressing against the cold wall. "Geeze, Ben," he said shakily as he ran his hands over his face and reached down again for the metal grate.

"I'm sorry. What…happened?"

I didn't think he'd answer. "Dark basement. Locked from the outside. Good place to keep someone you don't want around all the time." He finally got that metal flap free. The other came off soon after. I was still speechless. He heard my silence. "Mostly nothing a whole lot worse than that," he tried to brush it off. The word "mostly" had never jumped out of a sentence that hard in my mind more than at that moment. "But," he went on, "I did pick up a few nifty tricks like this." Pushing the thin metal into the door, he slid it up and worked it for a moment before I heard the lock disengage. Pressing his ear to the door, he waited for a moment before deciding the coast was clear and pushing the door open and stepping into the light.

* * *

_Riley_

I breathed a sigh of relief. I will probably never own a house with a basement. I'd spent way too many nights in pitch black, curled up at the top of a staircase, staying as close as I could to that faint patch of light, hearing bugs and little feet scurrying, and never quite knowing if it was in my head or not. Placement number twelve. Four months. Four months waiting for the sound of footsteps. Steady footsteps meant release. Stumbling footsteps usually meant I'd end up getting the crap kicked out of me. A shudder ran through my body. No reason anyone should really have to know about that. It was over. I was fine. And even if I wasn't completely fine, I could pretend.

I looked around the room we were in now. A wooden staircase went up to the main floor. The room was concrete like the one we'd been in, but it had an area rug covering a lot of it, and a couch and a TV in the corner. And a window at the top. A hand landed at the back of my neck and I pretty much jumped out of my skin. "Geeze!" I hissed.

Ben. Poor guy. I didn't mean to be a jerk. I'd dragged him into all of this. But I really couldn't handle being touched right then. He looked like he does when he wants to talk but stops himself. Which I appreciated. 'Cause I was done with that whole subject. One nightmare at a time, please. "Sorry," I said, taking a calming breath. "Kent and them are on the other side of that door up there. We can't get out that way."

"The window," he nodded. "Already on it. Good job, Riley."

I grinned at that, just a little. Walking up to the window, he slid his arms out of his jacket and balled the material up around his arm. Making as little noise as possible, he broke the window, knocking out the loose shards of glass. Then he shook out the jacket and pushed it up through the opening, laying it down on the ground to cover any broken glass. He motioned me over. "Come on."

I walked up next to him, and I realized something that made a tremor run through my body, making my shoulders jerk. The window was barely big enough for me to squeeze through. There was no way Ben was going to make it. I backed up. "New plan."

He shook his head. "There is no new plan. You've got to go for help."

"No."

"Riley…"

"No. You don't get it. I'm not leaving you here."

"I'll be fine."

I shut my eyes, shaking my head quickly. "But you might…not be. Ben, I heard…" I trailed off and rubbed at my chest.

"What? Tell me what you heard."

I chose my words carefully, as the conversation I'd heard through the door played in my head.

_We've got no choice, Kent. After break there are two weeks left in the semester. We don't get him to drop out today, there's no way you can spring for a private room before it ends. Everything this far will have been for nothing. And you're really willing to risk everything on trusting them to keep quiet for two weeks? You know that'll never happen. _

_Kenny, this is going too far. _

_I know you don't care about that kid. And no one would be able to tie us to that other guy in a million years. _

_Kenny, we can't _do _this! You have any idea what's going to happen if we… _

_You know what's going to happen if we don't? We can do what has to be done and get to walk away with six hundred grand, or we can go to jail because of one stupid loose end. I'm not going to jail, Kent. Not for something you screwed up. And what about Jason? You're gonna let him sit in jail for nothing? _

I make no claims at being a genius. But I'm no idiot, either, and I could only think up one interpretation for that. It wasn't safe for them to keep us alive. After I dropped out, there was nothing else for them to do with us. "After they get what they want from me…Ben, they…"

He understood. He took a deep breath, biting the inside of his lip. "It's still our only shot, Riley. You have to go. It's okay. You've got to go."

"Ben, if they come back… I won't let you die for me." I had to say it through my teeth, because my jaw got all seized up as tears burned at my eyes. I swallowed. "It's my fault you're here. I'm going to get you out."

"The only way for you to do that is to go now. Buddy, it's okay. You get out. Get somewhere safe, and you call the police, you hear me?"

I racked my brain for something else we could do. But in the end, I realized that he was right. It was our only shot. I was Ben's only shot. As much as I hated it, I had to leave him there. And every moment I stayed made it less likely I'd be back in time. So I nodded. "Fine."

He cupped his hand and I put my foot in it as he got ready to lever me up. He paused. "Riley…"

"Whatever it is, tell me later." He looked like he really wanted to say something. But I swear if he tried to give me some these-are-my-last-words speech, I was going to lose it. He nodded and without another word, boosted me up. I managed to pull myself through, though when I pulled my legs out after me, my right one dragged across a piece of glass. I barely managed to suppress a scream. I bit down, not even looking down as I felt warm blood trickle down my leg. _Focus. _"Be back in a few." I reached back in and handed him one of the thin, sharp flaps from the vent. It wasn't much, but if push came to shove, it could do some damage. "Be careful."

He nodded, and I stood and looked around. Leaves littered the ground from trees surrounding the property. I couldn't see another house. Heart already pounding, I started jogging, my cut leg fighting at me, lungs already starting to burn. Looking around, all I could see was more trees. Except up there. A road. I jogged toward it, fall air biting the inside of my chest every time I inhaled. When I reached it, I looked up and down. There was nothing. No cars. I couldn't see another house or a building. Not in either direction. "Come on!" I shouted. Nobody heard. "God! Come on!" I needed an angel or something. _God, I need an angel!_

Still there was nothing. Two choices. Walk along the road until I found someone willing to help. Or go back. Try to sneak Ben out. I took one step out onto the road. Stopped. With a deep breath, I turned. And I started running back toward the house.

Five minutes later, I knew I was running out of time. Kenny had said half an hour. I wasn't sure how much time had actually passed or how tight a schedule they wanted to keep, but I knew I had to be getting close. The house was average-sized. One of those feaux log cabin type things on the outside. The car in the driveway was locked, and I doubted there was any way they wouldn't hear me trying to break a car window. And even if I got in, I'd never hotwired a car before. I slinked around the outside of the house. I could see the three of them through the window in the living room. The door to the basement was down the hall from the front door. The living room was right across from it. No way could I get by without them seeing me.

I crouched down beneath the window and thought. Distraction. I leaned my head back against the wall, looking up at the sky, needing a plan. Then I saw it. The smoke. Coming from the chimney. They had a fire going in there. My hand went automatically to my pocket. I looked up again, weighing the odds. Holy cow. I had an idea.

There was a shed out back. Old wood, paint peeling. No lock. I threw the door open and nearly sang some sort of happy, joyful song. There was a ladder there, propped against the wall. I looked around more. What else could I use? A gas can. Nice. Pressed for time, I grabbed the ladder and hauled it out. It was heavy. One of those old wood kind. Dragging it and the gas can, I propped it up against the side of the house opposite where the living room was. I managed to get up the ladder, pretending each step didn't send pain scorching up my leg from that gash. I pulled the gas can up next to me and went to the chimney.

I took out my inhaler and soaked it in gasoline from the can. Squinted at the label. "'Do not use albuterol inhaler near flame or source of heat. Inhaler may explode if exposed to high temperatures.'" I grinned. "Fire in the hole."

Without another thought to how crazy I was, I dropped the inhaler down the chimney. Then poured more gasoline in on top. Then I got away quick. Sliding down the ladder, I landed hard, sending a wave of agony radiating up my leg. I heard a roar then a pop and ran around to the front door. Throwing a look through the window, I saw the three goons leap up from their seats and run toward what I guessed was the master bedroom that held the fireplace. Without hesitating I opened the door and limped down the hall as fast as I could.

I could hear shouts and curses. And something else. Fire. I could hear fire. How big was that explosion? Didn't matter, 'cause there was the door. I unlocked it and threw it open. "Ben!" I whispered loudly. "Get up here!" He was up the stairs in under three seconds.

Caught me by the shoulders. "You were supposed to..."

"I know."

"You're crazy!"

"I know!"

The house was filling with smoke faster than I would've imagined. I heard a yell about the carpet being on fire. Then the curtains. Juan came running around the corner, headed for the door. Before he even registered the fact that we were there, Ben landed a right hook across his jaw. He tripped back, but stayed upright. Ben grabbed a nearby vase and swung, busting it across the huge guy's head. He landed out cold. Bigger they are…

"Hey!" Kenny and Kent came tumbling out of the bedroom. Spotted us. Ben grabbed my arm.

We ran, shots ringing out behind us, hitting the walls, the door just as we managed to duck through. Jumping off the porch, we dove behind the car. As a few more shots peppered the sides of the car. Ben was next to me on the ground. "Got any more to this plan?"

"Nope, this is about as far as I got! Your turn!"

He nodded, accepting this. "Working on it!" I heard a gun dry click. Somebody was out of bullets. He looked at me. "Go around the side of the house. I'll try to draw them off this way. Let me go first."

"Ben…" but he was already going. Biting my tongue, I counted to seven before pushing myself up and hobbling across to the side of the house. There was a sturdy branch lying a few feet away. I grabbed it up, hoping to catch one of them off guard when they came around. I looked up at the house and realized the whole inside was starting to burn. _Oh crap. _Juan. He was still in there.

"Crap, crap, crap!" Using the branch as a sort of cane, I hurried my way up the porch steps and grabbed the huge Spanish wonder by the shoulder of his jacket and pulled. It was like hauling a truck. Without tires. Not being particularly careful, I rolled him down the porch steps. "Don't say I never did anything for you, you crazy, crazy Spanish man!" I turned around in time to see Kenny with his gun aimed at me. I froze. I had no way of knowing if his was the gun that was empty or if Kent's was the empty one.

"Game over, you little freak," he seethed, face streaked with soot, hair sticking up at mad angles. Geeze, he really looked like a great big orangutan.

I dropped my branch and narrowed my eyes. "Let me know how well six hundred grand spends in prison."

His eyes widened. Then I heard one single gunshot, from a ways off, echoing off the trees. _Oh no. Ben. No!_ But that meant…Kenny's gun… Fists clenched, I spoke lowly. "You're empty."

He tossed the gun aside, grinning. "Sounds like you are, too. Hope you and Gates weren't too terribly close."

My lungs seized as my heart tore a hole in my throat. That couldn't be…Ben wasn't…

Kenny was still laughing. He took a step forward. "Time for you to come with me. We're going to finish this." He made a grab for me. I blocked his hand with my left and with my right hand, I swung. From the shoulder. Wrist stiff. Followed all the way through.

And I connected.

I felt the crunch of bone and cartilage as my hand smashed into his face. It was the eeriest thing I'd ever felt. He reeled back, hands flying up to his face as blood poured through his fingers, crying out in pain from his freshly broken nose. I hit him again and he wavered. The last one saw his eyes closing. He went down and didn't move except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Breathing hard, tears biting my eyes, I turned around. Wasn't sure what to do. Ben. I had to find Ben. If he was…if something happened to him, it was all my fault. _Please don't let him be dead. He can't be dead because of me! _Oh, man. I might have killed my best friend. _I might have killed my _bestfriend

* * *

_Ben _

I ran. I could hear my pursuer behind me. I couldn't spare a moment to look back. I could only hope I'd managed to draw both psychopaths away from Riley. I didn't know what the kid had done back there, but I was pretty sure it was a miracle. He'd managed to set the place on _fire. _He seemed to be gifted in that area. Maybe we'd be able to joke about it someday. Whoever was behind me was gaining. I winced. Maybe we'd be able to joke about it many, many years down the road.

"Stop!" The voice was suddenly right behind me. "Stop unless you want that kid to come back here and find you dead!"

That horrifying thought slowed my feet by itself. I finally came to a stop, raising my arms, breaths coming almost as quickly as my rapid heartbeats. I turned to face him. He was maybe four yards away. "It's over, Bishop. You're not getting that money. We all know that."

His eyes widened and the gun bounced in his hand. He quickly steadied it with the other. Shaking his head, he glared at me. "No. Jason went to jail for that money. We're taking it. Your little friend is going to do what I tell him to do, or he's going to watch you die. I tend to think he'll lean toward the former."

"Nobody's going to buy that. If you run now, you might have a chance at getting away. A slim chance is better than no chance at all."

"You don't get it, man. Jason…me and him are like brothers. Friends since kindergarten. He kept his mouth shut because he knew when he got out, I'd be waiting for him out here with the money, and we'd be okay. You think I'm giving up this easy; you don't know me very well."

"I _don't_ know you very well. But a murder charge is going to keep you in prison a lot longer than your buddy."

His trembling hand tightened. "I don't want to kill you. Everything would've been fine if your friend had just done what he was supposed to do and left. That's all I wanted. If he'd left, nobody would've gotten hurt."

"If you and your friend hadn't stolen over half a million dollars, none of us would be here right now! Your 'blood brother' wouldn't be sitting in jail. You wouldn't be on the verge of screwing up a lot of people's lives, including your own!"

"Shut up!" He shook the gun at me. "I don't need to justify myself to you! You get over here slowly, and we're going back. And you better pray Poole is still there."

I watched the gun. There was a fifty/fifty chance if he pulled the trigger it would click dry. They weren't the best odds, but I was sure I'd worked with worse before. I wasn't much of a gambler. And I was never one for Russian roulette. But Riley was off somewhere alone, and I had no idea where Kenny was. Those odds were entirely unacceptable.

"All right," I said. "Take it easy. All right." I walked over toward him, slowly, arms still raised, watching the gun, watching his trigger finger. "I just have one question."

"What's that?"

"How often do you gamble?" With that, I grabbed onto the gun and threw a punch at his face, catching him in the side of the head. His hand jerked. Sure enough, the gun went off, and I felt pain sear across my palm as the discharge took the skin off where my hand was clamped over the top of the barrel. I yelped, hand automatically releasing the gun. Throwing myself forward, I crashed into him, taking us both to the ground, grappling for the gun. More than once, I found myself staring down the barrel. More than once he found himself in the same situation. We seemed to struggle like that, going back and forth, for an eternity until his fist caught me under the chin, forcing my head back so I couldn't see him long enough for him to land a solid punch to my stomach. I tried to gasp as the breath was ripped painfully from my body. In the time it took for me to get my eyes back on him, the gun was in my face.

We were both breathing hard. His eyes got round and glassy as he seemed to make a decision he didn't want to make. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

I shook my head, icy fear fisting around my heart. "Don't do it."

"I can't let you mess this up for me anymore."

"Kent!"

"Sorry." He pulled the trigger.

_Click._

The sound of what could've been my last heartbeat rang in my ears as I realized I was still alive. I sucked in a breath to prove to my heart it was okay for it to keep beating.

Eyes widening, Kent looked down at the traitorous weapon in his hands. "I…"

That was all he got out before I put my hand over his on the gun and got behind the other to land a right hook right across his jaw. His head snapped around, and he fell back into the leaves, fingers lax against the empty gun. I let out a breath and slowly stood, gun in my uninjured hand. I glanced down at the young man at my feet. I didn't want to feel sorry for him. But somehow I couldn't help the pity that welled up. I shook my head with a helplessly mumbled, "Stupid kid."

But I didn't have time for this. I had my own stupid kid to worry about. I turned to run back for the house, when I stopped. Riley was standing several yards away, supporting himself on a tree. Pretty sure that tree was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes were wide and shocky, holding an unspeakable fear. I could see his chest moving up and down, every breath going in and out of his mouth. I sighed in relief. He was okay.

"Where's the other guy?" I asked tensely.

He didn't answer. His eyes didn't move, staring at me like he was sure I was going to disappear at any moment.

"Riley? Are you okay?"

He carefully pushed off the tree and took a few hobbling steps toward me. It was then that I saw the blood making streaks down his right leg. I was over to him in a second. "What happened? Riley, where's the other guy?"

He reached out like he was scared if he touched me he might hurt me, but he had to convince himself I was really there and really breathing. Slender fingers caught at the fabric of my sleeve. He swallowed, eyes going bright. "I…it's okay. He's not coming." His breathing sped up. "Geeze, Ben," he whispered. "I thought…I heard the shot…and then I came, and he had the gun, and there was nothing I could do, and it would've been my…"

I wrapped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him into a hug. "Hey. I promised you we'd get out okay. I meant it."

He nodded against my chest, hands gripping my jacket like he was genuinely afraid to let go. He let out a deep breath and gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Yeah. Next time I'll believe you." I sent up a silent prayer of thanks, breathing my own sigh of relief. Because I realized it would've been all too easy for that day's events to have made a liar out of me.

But that's not what I said. Resting my chin on his bent head, I grinned. "Good. So...I think I'm going to skip my 8:00 class."

"I'll write you a fake note."

* * *

A/N: This isn't the end. :) There's more. I'll update as soon as I can. 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: My first post of the new year. Ahh...2008. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_Riley_

I stood there with my head against his chest, hands fisted in his jacket for two minutes and thirty six seconds. I heard his heart beat two hundred and forty one times. I talked the whole time about nothing. I couldn't tell you what all I said. I was too busy counting. And he nodded and offered whatever response was required like an "Mmhm" or "Yeah" at all the right spots. But mostly he just listened and let me talk so I could count in my head and listen to his heart slow down from the way it was close to pounding at first to a slow, steady rhythm. And he was alive. And his heart still worked the way it was supposed to. And I hadn't killed him.

Finally, when I was satisfied with two hundred and forty one heartbeats, and I got worried he'd figure out I was counting, I pried my fingers loose from the death grip I had on his coat. He let go of me as I pushed back, having to trust that heartbeat two hundred and forty two would come even though I'd stopped monitoring. I checked his face just to make sure. It was kind of a beat up face. But it didn't seize up in pain or anything. His heart was still beating. And I hadn't killed him.

He looked at me kind of weird, and I realized I'd probably stopped in whatever mindless monologue I'd been giving mid-sentence, but I really for the life of me had no idea what I'd been talking about. See, I can kind of put my mouth on autopilot and do lots of other useful things while filling awkward silence. Both a gift and a curse. I tried to recover. "Um…I'll tell you the rest later?"

He grinned, and I think he knew I'd been out of it. "Sure. You ready to go?"

"So ready." Oi, was I ready.

"Let me take a look at that leg." That's what doctors always said. Then instead of looking, they poked and prodded and made whatever it was hurt worse.

"Ah, no. It's fine. Just scraped it."

"Is it still bleeding?"

Ew. I didn't know. I would have had to look at it. "Nope."

He didn't look satisfied, but he let it go. Looking down at Kent's unconscious self, he shook his head. Then he looked at me. "Can you walk?"

"Been doing it since I was this tall." Truthfully, I was a little surprised I could still stand. But Ben was alive, and he needed me to walk. I'd walk.

"Okay. I'll grab this one. Let's get back to the house." He grunted as he somehow managed to get Kent up into a fireman's carry. I winced as he took a first step. Had to have hurt with that beating he took.

"You know you could just drag him. I don't think he'll mind."

"I got it."

"Okay." I followed a couple steps behind him so I could watch his back and make sure he wasn't going to fall or anything. Plus, with me behind him, he couldn't see the way I was limping.

"What happened to the orange guy?" he asked after a minute or two of walking.

I grinned and looked down at the bruises forming on my knuckles. "Paul."

"Pardon?"

"What Paul taught me. It really works."

He stopped walking and looked back at me. "You punched him out?"

"Yeah. Marine style."

He smiled back at me and kept going. "Paul's going to be so proud." He didn't say it all sarcastic. He said it like he was sort of excited about seeing Paul's face when I told him I punched out a bad guy. I was kind of excited, too. I hadn't thought about that. Paul was gonna be proud. Of me. 'Cause I took out a bad guy.

We kept on walking until we came to the house. The heat was incredible, and the fire had spread all over the inside, flames jumping out through the windows and stuff. It was like the world's biggest campfire only minus the hotdogs and marshmallows and ghost stories and stuff. Intense. Ben put Kent down on the ground and we both stood staring at the house for a minute.

"So…" I said.

"So." He nodded.

"I'm guessing going in to make a phone call is out."

"Yep. Let's go. Get the keys."

We found the car keys in Kent's pocket. Thank goodness the guy didn't leave them inside. Ben's cell phone was gone. They'd taken it and his pocket knife when they took him. Probably both engulfed by flames. Swell. "Do you know where we are?"

"Roughly. Yeah."

"Can I drive?"

"No."

Fine with me. I was asking more for form's sake than anything else. I was starting to feel really awful. "What do we do with Huey, Dewey, and Louie?"

"Well. I guess we put them in the car."

"We…tie them up first, right?"

"With…?"

I pointed him toward that old shed in the back, thinking I'd seen some rope in there. I stayed by the goons and the car on shaky legs, seriously doubting how much longer said legs would hold me up. The walk back had taken a bigger toll than I really thought was fair, and standing next to all the smoke billowing off the house was making my lungs a bit touchy. I still didn't have the guts to look at my leg. But I wasn't going to complain. Ben took just as much beating as I had, worse really, and he wasn't whining about it. I could stick it out long enough to get back to my dorm and crash. My dorm. And it would be just me. And I wouldn't have to worry about hiding my important stuff or sneaking around or getting hurt. I grinned suddenly.

Ben got back, rope in hand and caught the look. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just glad it's over, I guess."

He nodded and smiled. "Oh, yeah. It's over."

We got to work, tying them up. I tried to help Ben get them to the car, but I was so shaky, all I could really do was hold the door open. "We need to get you to the hospital," he grunted, manhandling Juan into the backseat.

"Look who's talking. What…uh…happened to your hand?"

"Burned it on the top of the barrel when the gun went off. Superficial."

"Just painful."

"I've had worse." I crossed my arms and glared at him. He rolled his eyes as he finally shoved Juan in. I tucked Juan's foot in after him. "Don't worry. I'm going to let them check me out, too."

Well, that at least was something. With three dangerous unconscious people in the back of the car, I shut the door and sat back in the passenger seat, adjusting my mirror so I could see those three dangerous unconscious people. Ben got behind the wheel and started her up. "We're about twenty, twenty-five minutes out of town. You can catch a nap if…"

"I'm fine. I got to sleep all night."

"You were unconscious from a concussion."

"You say 'tomato.'"

"Riley."

"Ben."

"You look like you're about to pass out."

"Great. So I'll sleep _then_. Until that time somebody's gotta keep an eye on the crazy psychos while you drive. So drive on."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes before backing out. "You're impossible."

"Part of my charm."

NTNTNTNTNTNT

Fortyish minutes later, me and Ben were sitting on the hood of Kent's Cadillac in the parking lot of a gas station, fifteen yards from the payphone we'd used to call in, watching the party train come rolling in. Police cars, ambulances, a fire truck, the whole shebang. I tensed, eyes darting around, catching the stares from any and all bystanders. Kent and Kenny had both come around, though Juan was still out. The three of them were still in the back tied up.

I leaned over to Ben. "You sure they're gonna believe us? We're the ones with three guys tied up in the car. What if we don't have enough proof?"

"Trust me. Look in the mirror. We _are _the proof."

I wasn't so sure. But I kept my mouth shut as two officers approached us. "Is anyone here in need of medical attention?" one of them asked straight off. Ben had been pretty vague on the phone. He was basically like, "My friend and I were kidnapped at gunpoint and beaten." Then he told them where we were. They really didn't have a clue what was going on. I edged a little closer to Ben.

He smiled at the officer and said almost happily, "I think pretty much all of us, sir."

NTNTNTNTNT

Two hours later I sat with fourteen stitches in my leg. It really was kind of a disgusting wound. They'd had to clean it all out, too, which hurt like crazy. But I was in the middle of trying to simultaneously glare at a thermometer-wielding nurse and remember what the question was that this really intimidating police guy just asked me.

"Mr. Poole, I really need to take your temperature…" the nurse was saying.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"But…"

"I'm beat up, not sick." Maybe not entirely true, but I wasn't going to let them find anything that might try to convince them to make me stay a minute longer than necessary.

The lady looked helplessly at the officer. He just sort of waved her off, and she looked disappointed that she didn't get to keep poking me with needles and whatever other evil tortures she'd planned. "I'm sending the doctor up as soon as he's free."

"Can't wait." I rubbed at my aching head as she left the room.

"Mr. Poole…"

"Riley," I corrected the officer without looking up. "Mister" seemed so cold.

"Riley," he said levelly. "I need you to go over this for me again."

"Can't I just fax you? You've got all the bad guys in custody. I'll e-mail you or call you or write you. I will choreograph and videotape an interpretive dance highlighting the exciting parts and send it to you if you please just let me go crash for a day."

He didn't seem entirely moved. I heaved a heavy sigh.

"Fine. Once again: those guys kidnapped me to make me drop out of school. Ben Gates, the guy I came in with, showed up and surprised them, I guess, and they took him, too. They roughed him up pretty good, too, which is assault, which I'm pretty sure is illegal."

"That's the part we've been over. I want you to tell me why they would do that."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Where's Ben? Is he out of x-ray, yet?"

"Please answer the question."

"Okay. You're going to need to call the school, though."

"The school?"

"MIT."

He pressed his lips together. "Yes, I know it's MIT. Why do I need to call the school?"

I ducked my head. "Because if they sift through the computer records under the student account of Kent Bishop, they'll find approximately six hundred thousand dollars in stolen money from the same bookstore scam that Jason Donley got busted for early this semester."

I looked up in time to see his eyes widen the slightest bit as he raised a knuckle to his lips. "How do you know that?"

"Kent's my roommate. He and Jason are best friends. I heard things I wasn't supposed to hear."

"I worked Donley's case. You were the one who…?"

"Gave the tip. Yes."

"Why didn't you come to us with this sooner?"

"I didn't have any proof. And I didn't know Juan and Kenny were in on it. But I thought if I could just wait it out until the end of the semester, they'd find it anyway. And I didn't know…I figured if I came forward and knew what I knew…"

"You'd be a suspect," he finished for me.

I shrugged. Then looked up at him. "Am I?" I knew the sort of stuff that came with being a suspect. Interviews. Background checks. All my records. Even when they found out I was innocent, there was still no way they wouldn't be able to do some simple addition…

He looked at me, and for a moment, he looked less intimidating. "No, kid. I already checked you out." He lowered his voice just a bit. "Your secret's safe with me."

My shoulders relaxed slightly as I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I looked him in the eye. "Thank you."

He nodded and suddenly went back to being all business. "All right. I want details. You're going to need to tell me exactly what you heard and when you heard it. I'm going to need a list of offenses perpetrated by Mr. Bishop and the other two. Everything that happened while you were…"

I suppressed a groan as he kept talking. Cops. But I would talk to this guy for days and days if that's what he wanted. He was going to leave me alone. So I pretty much owed him.

NTNTNTNTNT

After the hospital, where both Ben and I were deemed relatively okay. Ben because he really was, thank goodness. Me because…well, mostly because I wouldn't let them touch me. But my leg was sewn up good, and I had a big, fat bottle of Tylenol in my room. Anyway, after the hospital, I had to go talk to the school administrators. Which was fine. The admin building was only a few little yards away from my dorm. The campus was full of people with suitcases and backpacks packing up their cars to go home for Thanksgiving. Ben rode with me to the school, I guessed because he still had to pick up his car.

He looked over at me as we wove our way past the housing buildings toward admin. "I have to call my dad. Tell him I'll be late."

I nodded. Oh. He was going to his Dad's for Thanksgiving. Well, yeah. That made sense. Thanksgiving was a family holiday. "Where does he live?"

"Few hours away in Hartford." He glanced at me. "What about you?"

I shrugged. "I think I'll just stick around here. I have stuff I can get caught up on. It'll be nice to have it quiet for a change."

He got a crease in his forehead. "Here as in on campus? Riley, you can't stay here. This is a closed break."

I blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"A closed break. Everybody leaves. Buildings are closed. Cafeteria doesn't serve. Everyone goes home. Students aren't allowed to stay on-campus. All the residential students have to be checked out by tomorrow." We pulled up to administration. Oh, geeze. A closed break? Could they even _do _that? Testament to how much I hadn't been paying attention the past few weeks. My heart was trying really hard to speed up as I realized I had no place to stay for the next week. I couldn't afford a motel. I didn't even have a car. Man.

I shrugged my heart into slowing down and wrote it off as something I'd deal with later. I'd think of something. "Oh, that's right." I tried on a smile. It didn't fit quite right, so I swapped it for another shrug. "Yeah. Got it covered. You leaving today?"

"That's the plan."

"Right. Have a good break. Glad you're okay. See you in a week." Short sentences usually worked best. I opened the door and stepped out. Ben was looking at me.

"Yeah. You, too."

I nodded and shut the door as the police cruiser pulled away from the curb, taking him toward his car. I turned around and started limping my way up the steps, police officer at my side, toward what I was sure would be a painfully long conversation. My head wasn't really in it, though. My head was more into convincing itself that nothing had really changed. I still didn't need anybody. I hadn't needed anybody for a long time. And the fact that Ben was going home for Thanksgiving was awesome. Good for him. I'd be fine. It was just a freaking week. Geeze, what was wrong with me?

NTNTNTNTNT

The conversation _had_ been painfully long. But it was over. The police had wanted me to stay in touch. All I could give them was my dorm extension. Oh well. They had Ben's number. When he got back, he could tell me anything they wanted me to know. And anyway, I was so ready to crash. I had until the next day to get out. Which meant I had until the next day to figure out a place to stay. As I stumbled up the stairs to my room, I worked out a plan in my head. Most of the days I could spend hanging out at coffee shops and libraries. Shopping centers if I got bored. Thanksgiving Day would be a bit more difficult, what with most places being closed. But there was always Wal-Mart. Was that a pun?

Nights were a bit more important. I had to find someplace warm with a door that locked where I'd be safe shutting my eyes. Churches usually worked best for that sort of thing. But most of them were getting security systems and stuff, so I'd have to check that out during the day. Putting it on my mental to-do list, I stopped outside my door and gave a tired smile. I didn't have to worry about what was on the other side of that door. It was nice.

I pushed it open and didn't even bother looking around, just made a beeline for my bed and collapsed as gently as I could, hissing as the stitches in my leg tugged a little. I think I was passed out before I could finish saying "Ow."

And when someone shook me awake a little while layer saying something about sleeping and having a concussion, I didn't think much of it. Mostly because I wasn't thinking much period. I just mumbled at whoever it was to leave me alone and went back to sleep, figuring I was imagining things. So I was probably imagining my sneakers being pulled off my feet and the blanket tucked around me, too. The hand that brushed across my forehead my mostly-asleep mind automatically assumed was my dad's. And for that brief second before I fell back into sleep, I was twelve and safe again.

* * *

_Ben_

I watched him sleep for awhile, listening to his breathing, making sure he was okay. It was only 8:00 p.m., but it had officially been the longest day of my life. Stretching out on the bed across the room from Riley's and setting my watch to wake me up in two hours for the next concussion check, I closed my eyes. I'd been back to my apartment for a shower and my luggage for the week. Then I'd called my dad. He'd been understandably confused.

"Dad, I'm not going to make it back tonight."

I'd heard the silent "Oh." "Well, son, I can understand that. Plans change."

The man really didn't think I was coming. Come on. "Dad, I'll be home tomorrow. I can't give you a specific time just yet, but…here's the thing. I have this friend…"

"That Melanie girl?"

"No, Dad. We broke up. I told you that."

"A different girl already? Ben, I don't think…"

"No, Dad," I said as patiently as I could. First of all, Melanie was the second girl I'd ever really dated. Second of all, it'd been four months since we'd broken it off. Wasn't like I was seeing a new girl every other week. "Not a different girl. A friend from school. He doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving."

"Foreign exchange student or something?"

"Not quite. But seeing as it's just the two of us this year, I didn't think you'd mind…"

"No. Not at all. If you have this friend who needs help, by all means. I have the room." I could hear it in his voice. He thought I was bringing someone home to take some of the heat off myself. That wasn't the plan, really. This was about Riley. Though if having the kid in the house could save us from arguing, I won't lie, I'd count it as a definite plus. "Does this man have a name?"

"Riley."

There was a short pause. "That's his first name?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Dad. His name is Riley Poole. That's Poole with an 'e' if you're making place cards."

"No need to get snippy. I'll see you tomorrow, Ben."

"That you will. Bye, Dad."

I'd hung up, too tired to try to explain any more of what had happened. It'd be hard enough to explain face to face, especially the way my face was so well-decorated at that moment. Ah, well. Why dwell? So instead I just laid there, hands behind my head, listening to Riley breathe, which had nearly become a habit at this point, and trying to come up with the best strategy for kidnapping a very independent, very self-conscious, very vocal computer science major. I'd ruled out duct tape, chloroform, and holding his laptop for ransom by the time sleep finally claimed me.

NTNTNTNT

The next morning, I saw the moment he started waking up for real. I had the feeling Riley was a light sleeper and thanked his concussion for the fact that he still didn't realize I was there. I'd been opening and closing drawers and pulling things from the closet all morning. I sat on the bed opposite his and waited. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. Then he dropped his hands back down and let out a huge sigh, resulting in a few heavy coughs that made me sit up a little straighter. He sat up slowly with a wince, rubbing at his chest. It took approximately .09 seconds for sharp blue eyes to zero in on the bags sitting on the floor. Then they looked up and found me. Then they grew about six sizes. "Ben?" He swallowed a cough. "What are you doing here?"

"I am…I was…checking on you. Concussion. I know you didn't let the doctor check you out properly. So on a not completely unrelated note, where's your inhaler?"

"I blew it up," he said sleepily.

My eyebrows jumped. Oh. The fire. Really? "You…Of course you did." Mental note: stop by the pharmacy. I smiled and shook my head. He looked very confused.

"Ben, I thought you were leaving last night for your dad's."

"Well, that was the original plan. But with everything that happened, I was exhausted, you were exhausted. Figured a night's sleep would be the best thing if I wanted to make the drive."

His hair was sticking straight up on one side and he was blinking owlishly, trying to understand what I was saying. "Oh. Okay." His gaze fell again to the bags on the floor and he rubbed his head, face showing how puzzled he was. I kind of liked him like this. He seemed a lot more pliable. I could use that. "Are those my bags?" he asked.

"Mmhm. Yep. As soon as you're ready, we can load up."

"Load what up?"

"The car."

"I don't have a car."

"My car."

"Oh." He nodded. "Ben?"

"Yes, Riley?"

He took a deep breath. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Okay. With any luck, he'd still be too tired and bewildered to argue. "I was actually wondering if you'd want to come with me to my father's house for Thanksgiving break."

The look on his face made me worry he'd misheard the request. He looked like I'd just asked him if he wanted to jump off a bridge. "What?"

"Well, it's just me and him this year. We've got plenty of room and way too much food. It's kind of short notice, I know. I just figured if there wasn't anywhere you needed to be…"

"Why?"

The monosyllabic questions were not a good sign. "Because you're sick, injured, and need a place to stay?"

"Wh…ah…" He shook his head. "No. Uh, no. Thank you." He had a small, surprised smile on his face, and I think he was impressed, perhaps even a little delighted that I'd asked. But he shook his head. "I'm okay here. Go spend some time with your dad."

"Riley…"

Just then there was a stamp of feet and a bellowed, "Lady on the floor!" in forewarning I suppose for any college-type guy she thought might be running around naked, before her footsteps came down the hall, the door opened, and Melanie popped her head in. When I'd called her, I'd said she hadn't needed to come. She'd hung up. "Where…" Her eyes caught sight of the two of us. She gasped. "Guys. Oh my…oh my gosh." It was nearly whispered. Melanie doesn't whisper often. She brought a hand up to her open mouth as she stepped further into the room. She held out a hand toward me. "Your face…"

"I'm fine. We're fine. Both of us. We're okay, Mel," I promised.

"Ben, you didn't tell me they hurt you like this."

"Hey, I'm fine," I said again.

She told me as gently as she could to shut up, looking truly and utterly horrified. My face was still tender, and I knew I had a few cuts decorating it. But apparently the bruising had set in as well. And Riley. That kid just looked torn up. He had angry bruises coloring his eye, reaching halfway down his cheek, making the rest of his face look even paler than it actually was. He was still in the same shirt he'd worn the day before, dirty and patched with blood in a few places. I'd at least had a shower. He looked like he'd just been mauled. "Boys," she said, shaking her head. There were real tears turning her eyes misty. She turned to me, started to slap me on the shoulder, thought better of it, and asked, "Is it okay to hug you?"

I smiled and pulled her into a hug, doing a wonderful job of not wincing as she pressed against those tender places I'd been hit, if I do say so myself. "We're okay."

She nodded and stepped back, blinking and steadying herself. "Riley Poole, are you huggable?"

I glanced back at Riley. Poor kid was starting to wake up. "Melanie, what are you doing here?" She tilted her head to one side. He waved a hand in the air. "I mean yes. Hugs. Fine." He let her hug him like he was made of stained glass. I was just glad he was still on the bed, legs under that blanket. He was still wearing yesterday's jeans, and the woman would have a fit if she saw the long streaks of red down one leg.

"Paul's on his way up, by the way," she told me as she finally let go of Riley. "He had to stop on his way in. Some guy whistled at me."

I nodded, mental picture already painted. Paul was probably outside, "explaining" to the young man the meaning of propriety. At the end of the day, the young whistler would probably either be opening doors for all the young ladies or enlisted in the Corps.

Riley blinked. "Paul's coming here?" There was a flash of a smile followed by a look of confusion. "Why? And why are you here?"

"Ben called and told us what happened," Melanie explained. "We had to come see if you were okay. How you feeling, sweetie?"

Riley looked up at me. "There's really no answer I can give that's going to satisfy her, is there?"

I shook my head and mouthed a "Nope."

He turned his eyes back to her and gave a cheekily exaggerated smile. "You look stunning today."

Surprisingly enough, Riley had managed to convince her he'd be okay with that, not even having to answer her question. He was good. She tried to look stern, shaking her head as her face split into a smile. "You're trouble."

"Personified. Yes. I know." He smiled. "Thanks for coming. I'm really okay."

"Debatable."

"Ben, could you debate with Melanie while I take a shower?" He rubbed at his head and finally stood and grabbed his shower stuff, rummaging around in his drawer for clothes. Melanie caught a look at his pants and gasped, swinging her head around to look at me. I shook my head and motioned for her to let it go. Riley looked up at me. Then down at the duffel and backpack on the floor. "Did you pack my stuff?"

"Just enough for the week."

He shot me this amazed look and shook his head. "Crazy." He grabbed the clothes he needed and the towel off the back of the door. "Thanks for coming, Mel. See you next week."

"Sure, babe."

"Riley, you're not supposed to get those stitches wet."

He sighed and shoved his hand in a drawer, coming out with a tube of plastic wrap. He waved it at me and kept walking. "Have a good trip, Ben. Thanks for everything."

"Of course."

Once he was across the hall in the bathroom, Melanie looked at me, her voice quiet. "He really thinks we're going to be gone when he gets back, you know."

I sighed. "I know."

"He's really been living with the monster who did this all semester?"

"Without telling a soul." I shook my head. "If I hadn't been there, I don't think I'd ever have gotten the full story from him."

She nodded. "He couldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"My guess? It never entered his mind that you'd want to help. Right now he probably thinks your life is as close to perfect as it gets. And he's the one messing it up. The less he messes up your perfect life, the longer he'll get to be a part of it." I was quiet for a long moment. Melanie understood Riley, I think. That's why they got along so well. She'd had to overcome her own abusive past, one of which I will most likely never know all the details. She recognized the signs in Riley like I did, but she understood them in a way that I never could.

"How do I convince him otherwise?"

"Time."

I nodded once, running a hand through my hair. "I can do that."

"I know you can." She chewed her bottom lip. "This was scary, Ben. Are you really okay?"

"I guess…I'm still processing," I answered honestly, sinking down to sit on the bed. "You're right. It is very scary."

"What's going to happen?"

"The court date is going to be set after a preliminary hearing. The holiday throws things off a bit. We're both going to have to testify, though. They pushed the hearing back until after Thanksgiving. I haven't actually told my Dad…any of it, really. But I'm going to see him tonight. Somehow I have to manage to get Riley to come with, because I truly have no idea what he plans to do with himself this next week, and that thought terrifies me just a little, because…well, _look _at him. And when I finally get him down to my father's house, I'm worried Dad's going to see me like this and overreact…"

"What would overreacting to _this _look like, Ben? I don't think it's possible to _overreact _to _this._"

I paused. "Good point."

Paul waltzed in then. The big man got a look at me and whistled. He winced sympathetically and said point blank, "Ben, you're not all right."

Dear Paul. Man always gets straight to the point. He's also impossible to lie to. "Not a hundred percent. No."

He nodded. "You'll get there. Where's the littler one?" That got a smile out of me. Riley would die.

"Shower."

"And he's…?"

"Also not all right. Picture not all right plus pneumonia plus stitches plus a concussion plus severe emotional trauma all wrapped up in an eighteen year old kid with no family."

He nodded knowingly. "So _you're_ just…not all right plus the severe emotional trauma all wrapped up in a single-man-turned-worried-parent."

I sighed. "Worried friend. I'm not that old."

"Technically..."

"Paul."

"Okay. But listen, you need to talk to someone, you call me. Understand?"

I was a step away from giving him a "Sir, yes, Sir." Bit I didn't. "Of course I do."

"Good. So what's the game plan?"

Melanie spoke up, sitting down on the desk chair. "Operation Get-Riley-to-go-home-with-Ben-for-Thanksgiving."

"All right. Mission objectives?"

She giggled. "Heretofore stated in the operation title. Paul, you're ridiculous."

He grinned at her. "Okay, then. How about a plan of attack?"

Melanie gave a thin smile. "I think it'll be relatively simple."

"Yeah?" I asked. "Please expound."

"All we have to do is give him a choice."

I blinked. "I gave him a choice. He said no."

"So we give him a choice. 'No' just won't be one of his choices."

* * *

_Riley_

I stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist. There wasn't anyone else in the bathroom. Most everyone had left the day before as soon as classes had ended. This was perfectly fine for me. I slipped on my boxers and de-plastic-wrapped my leg. I was supposed to change the bandage. That would be fun. I winced, looking down at the bandage just above my knee which might've been slightly damp around the edges. Stupid plastic wrap. I stood in front of the wall mirror at the end of the row of shower stalls and took stock. My face looked kinda gory, the bruises already forming this deep purple color, but I wasn't cut like Ben. Most of the bruising on my torso was old and that light yellow-green color, but there were the few odd new ones I'd gotten in this last little caper, the most notable being the one where Kenny had nailed me. A few scrapes. Nothing a little time wouldn't heal.

I sighed and pulled my shirt over my head, trying hard not to think about how close I'd come to seeing Ben get killed for my mess. The guilt I expected, but I couldn't shake the fact that it still scared the crap out of me. That stupid scene kept popping up in my head with Kent's gun inches from his face. Kent pulling the trigger. Ben could've died. By all accounts, without some miracle, Ben should've died. Maybe God had heard my angel prayer after all. His timing was way better.

I shook myself out of it and slipped into my jeans. And after all that, after I essentially get him killed, what does the guy do? He invites me over for Thanksgiving dinner. I shook my head. He'd have done it, too, I knew. It was a pity offer, sure, but he really, truly would've done it. Blew my mind. _One of these days, that guy is going to trust somebody and get it thrown right back in his face._ I'd have to make sure to watch out for that.

I walked back across the hall toward my room with a mind to grab my stuff and go when I heard the voices coming through the wall. They were still there. What the heck? I walked in. Even Paul was there. This became immediately apparent as I was suddenly grabbed up into a Marine hug.

"There he is. You scared the crap out of me, son. You know that?"

"Uh," I coughed. "Sorry?"

He pushed me back, a hand on each of my shoulders. "I heard you had to use what I taught you."

I ducked my head and grinned. "Yeah. You…were right. It worked."

I glanced up at him to see this big, giant-sized smile. "You. Are. Amazing. Not a guy in a thousand probably who could've done what you did up there. Proud to know you, Riley Poole. Proud to know you."

Whoa. He was totally serious. I could feel my face burning. "Um…thanks. But I didn't…"

"Stop after thanks, son. Humility's good, but I'm telling the truth, so you might as well accept it."

I let out a breath and gave a small smile. "Thanks." Paul may not have had his facts totally straight, but he was smiling and proud to know me. And he said not to argue, so I couldn't argue with that. He was a Marine. But then he said something I could easily argue with.

"I think you have a fever, by the way."

I pulled back and walked around Kent's bed to sit on mine, trying not to limp. "I just took a hot shower."

"Where are your pills?" Ben asked.

"I…am done with them." I was. Just because Kent had made me done with them a little sooner than I was supposed to be didn't mean I wasn't done with them.

"He took them?"

Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who "he" was. "It's really fine. It's been a week. I'm recovered."

"How much of this week have you been going without your pills?"

Who asks questions that specific? Seriously. "It's all a blur, really. I…have a concussion."

"That's true, Ben," Melanie spoke up from her spot on a chair. "People with concussions like that shouldn't be alone. Especially with pneumonia. He's going home with you, right?"

Ben nearly winced. I think I did, too. He tried to answer. "Well…"

"Well, if he's not going with you, he's coming with me. I'm going to see my family in Minnesota. Fresh air. Probably the best thing for him, anyway."

A crowbar could not have gotten my eyebrows down out of my hairline. "What? Uh, thanks, Melanie, but really, I'll be…"

"Minnesota?" Paul asked. "That's way too far. I don't know if that long of a trip is a good idea. Ben, if you're not taking him, I want him. Jana loves him, and the kids are already asking when he's coming back."

What the heck? "Paul, I'm staying here…"

"Minnesota's not so terribly far," Melanie argued.

"It's freezing up there this time of year. He has pneumonia."

"Well, I wasn't planning on us walking there."

"Oh, not walking. You live out in the boonies of Minnesota. I'm relatively sure at this time of year your house is only accessible by dogsled."

"No," she scoffed. "Let's put him in a house with a bunch of screaming kids. Perfect place to recuperate."

"Guys, Ben already asked," I put in quickly, practically dizzy from looking back and forth between them. "I'm, um, I'm going with Ben."

Ben's eyebrows rose, and he sort of smiled at the other two, reaching out to nudge my shoulder. "See? I told you, guys. I've got dibs."

I nodded. Then I shook my head. Wait. What just happened? Oh, crap.

* * *

A/N: And thanks to all who reviewed! Wow! 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: So. Been awhile, right? Like, um...over a year. Oi. I'm sorry guys. All I can say is life went a little crazy, and writing and stuff just had to go all backburner. To all who kept reviewing and stuff, thanks so much. And if any of you asked a question, and I didn't write back, my sincerest-est apologies. Ask me now. Ask me anything. I've missed you guys. So...to you who _remember_ this story...heh...here's the next chappie.

* * *

_Ben_

Several hours later, we were nearing my father's house. Riley had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, one foot up on the dash, arms wrapped around the computer case in his lap. The moment we'd gotten on the road, he'd warmed up to the idea a bit, though I could tell the whole thing made him feel a little awkward. It wasn't his voice that really gave it away. It was his eyes, I think. They moved around quick and nervous, even as he stretched out, hands behind his head, appearing completely at ease. He'd said something like, "So, it's cool with your dad, right? I mean, he knows I'm coming?"

I'd nodded. "Yep. Called him last night." Honestly, I was still nervous about how my dad would react to Riley. And to me. And I realized it was a little late to worry about it, but I couldn't help it. I was starting to wonder if maybe it would've been better for him if I'd sent him home with Paul after all. But then why hadn't I? Oh yeah, because bad things happened when I let him out of my sight. _What? Oh, come on, Ben. He's not seven. _I didn't even bother trying to rationalize that one.

"What's he like?" Riley asked casually, putting his foot up on the dashboard and shooting me a quick look to see if I'd object. I didn't and he started fiddling with one of the cup holders, flipping it open and closed.

"My dad?"

"Yeah."

My dad. Hm. What was he like? "He's like me," I resolved. "Only the opposite."

"Ah," he nodded. "You guys fight a lot."

"Not really fight…We don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. Mostly my life and what I choose to do with it."

He glanced at me sideways like he wasn't sure he believed me completely. "You're in college. You've already got yourself a degree from Georgetown. You're working toward something that means the world to you, something all deep and family-rooted. You help a lot of people. And you have friends who care about what happens to you. What else could your dad possibly want you to do?"

I smiled at his summation of my life and had to think about his question for a moment. Dad had never really told me what he wanted me to do. Mostly, he just made it abundantly clear what he wanted me _not _to do. "Normal," I finally answered. "I think he wants me to do normal."

Riley nodded philosophically and took a rather loud sip from the blue Slurpee he'd grabbed from the gas station earlier. "Ben, I don't think normal's right for you."

I grinned. "Yeah, I didn't think it'd work, either."

He frowned suddenly. "Are you sure I should…you know…be here? I mean your dad invited you, right? This is sort of supposed to be his time with you, the whole father/son bonding thing, and I'm…"

"Completely welcome with me and my family," I'd cut him off, hoping to forestall that kind of thinking before it could really take hold. If it hadn't already.

He looked less than convinced. "But he might not…"

"Once he gets to know you, my dad's going to love you. I give it…half an hour at most before he's on your case, nagging at you, wanting to make you into the best human being he possibly can. He may freak out a little at first, but that's just him—how he is. In fact, it'll probably be better if you just don't listen to anything he says for that first half hour, okay?"

He was chewing on his bottom lip, still flipping the cup holder, trying not to look worried. "Okay."

I'd smiled. "I'm kidding. He's a good guy. We'll all be fine this week. Don't worry."

He'd tried to match my smile. "I'm not."

"Good."

So there I was pulling into my dad's driveway with a sleeping, teenaged, way-too-independent computer nerd clutching his laptop like a teddy next to me, and a moody, over-the-hill, more-embittered version of me in the house directly in front of me. Basically I was surrounded by complicated people I cared about. _Happy Thanksgiving to me._

* * *

_Patrick_

This is where I find myself caught up in this story. I heard the knock at my door just around dinner time. Which surprised me because my son has a habit of showing up late. So while I'd made dinner for him and his friend, I'd planned on resigning myself to packing it into the fridge for whatever ungodly hour they came tumbling in the door.

But for whatever reason the knock came right on time and I pushed myself out of my chair, eager to meet this college buddy my son had brought home. Remember, I knew nothing of what happened or what was going on. It was curious to me how little information I'd actually received. Ben may be accustomed to making decisions on a whim, but it's also in his nature to over-explain. Since he hadn't over-explained, it left me with time to try to figure out why. All I could come up with was either he didn't have much information himself, or…he was hiding something. I found neither option particularly appealing. As soon as I had the door open an inch, though, all thoughts of the mystery guest vanished from my mind. My mouth dropped open and for a moment, I was speechless. "Your face is purple," were the words that first escaped my lips I think as I took my son by the shoulders and pulled him closer into the light of the entryway. Not only bruised, but cut as well. He looked awful. "Ben? Good grief, what happened?" I demanded of him.

"Dad, I'm fine." He tried to brush me off. "It's not as bad as it looks. We'll talk about it later, okay? Let's just go inside. In the meantime, Dad, this is my friend, Riley Poole. Riley, this is my father, Patrick Gates."

For the first time, my eyes shifted from Ben's face to the slightly hunched form of the visitor. I nearly took a step back. The person standing at my son's elbow couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. A teenager. Little more than a child. Not only was he young, but he was awfully banged up as well! What in the world? The boy must've read something on my face, because the slight grin he wore disappeared and he suddenly dropped his eyes. "It's nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for letting me stay in your home this week." Every word was enunciated with such a sincere politeness that I pegged it as an act before he'd finished his first sentence.

It was a long, awkward second before I managed to make my voice respond with "Ah, yes. Yes. A pleasure to have you, young man. It's chilly out here, isn't it? Both of you, let's get inside now. There's dinner for you on the stove if you're hungry."

I stepped back to let them both in. Ben seemed to be trying and failing to catch the boy's eyes. "You can drop your things in here if you want," I offered. First my son and then his guest complied. We all looked at each other.

"So how are you, Dad?" Ben asked easily. Much more easily than I would've thought possible, really.

"Good. Good. And you?"

"Good." He nodded.

"Good." I only paused a moment. Then I cleared my throat. "Ben, may I speak with you for a moment? Privately."

His smile faltered the slightest bit. "Sure. Riley, kitchen's through there. Help yourself to anything. Whatever's on the stove, I'm sure it's delicious."

The boy gave a short nod and looked at me. I'm not sure the expression on my face, but the kid nearly winced. He offered me a "Thank you, Mr. Gates," before disappearing into my kitchen.

I looked at Ben. He was all but glaring at me. "What was that?" he demanded quietly.

"What was what?"

"It probably would've been easier if you'd just hung a neon sign that said 'Don't Come In. I'm an Ogre.' Funny, I remember you saying something along the lines of my friend would be welcome in your house.'"

I shook my head and slipped my glasses off my nose, cleaning the lenses on the front of my sweater, a bit of a frustrated habit. "Well, I think all things considered I was remarkably civil. Pardon me for being caught a little off-guard; you walking in here looking like you've been dragged across cement without a word of explanation or forewarning. And on top of that, you said you were bringing a _friend_. I must've mistook that to mean an adult. That child looked sixteen, Ben."

He rolled his eyes, a trick he'd picked up from his mother, I'm sure. "He's eighteen, Dad. That is the typical age for a college freshman."

"You're not listening to me, son. I want an explanation. You look like you just had the tar beat out of you. The boy, too. Now you tell me, Benjamin Franklin Gates, what you've got yourself mixed up in and what that boy has to do with it. He one of those troubled kids? Hm? What's wrong with him? I think I have a right to know what you've brought into my house."

I saw his jaw clench and realized I'd stepped on a nerve, though I hadn't a clue what I'd said. All of those were reasonable questions. He stepped up closer to me and spoke in a low voice, so low I could barely hear him. "There is nothing wrong with him." The words came out strained, and I believe he was struggling to keep his voice so frustratingly quiet. "I will tell you about the rest later. Until that time, I suggest you lower your voice because there is a guest in this house who does not deserve your superior looks or your belittling."

"Lower my voice? I'm whispering here, aren't I?"

He merely kept his pointed gaze fixed on me and went on as though I hadn't interrupted. "He's been through a lot. He's sick, and he's hurt, and I told him he'd be welcome here. If he's not welcome here, please tell me now, and we'll leave."

I felt some of my own anger simmer down slightly, looking him up and down through very clean lenses. He was my son, infuriating as he could be, and I'd missed him. This was time I could spend with him, and I wasn't going to sacrifice that. I gestured at him with my hand. "You're both welcome. You know that. But whatever's going on, you were wrong to not tell me and then expect no reaction when I see my son walk in wounded."

His eyes swept the floor before returning to mine as his own anger receded. "I'm sorry."

"I am, too. Now. Are you in any danger?"

"No."

"Is he?"

"No."

I let out a shallow breath. "Well all right then."

He shot a look toward the kitchen and spoke again in that impossibly quiet voice. "I need you to love him. He has no one, Dad. I need you to care."

I blinked. Then I turned and headed for the kitchen, jaw clenched. "We'll talk later."

I heard a sigh behind me and his following footsteps. Something had happened. My son had been hurt. And somehow the stranger in my kitchen fit into the equation. To be honest, I didn't trust that boy. He had the look of a man who was hiding something. And I didn't trust Ben's judgment. I was too confused to put much effort toward caring. And perhaps too angry at that time to find out why it was so important.

* * *

_Ben_

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so frustrated with my dad. One of the things that got under my skin the most about him was that he always assumed he knew what was going on, even when he had no clue. _And why doesn't he have a clue, Ben?_ Because I'd handled this whole thing wrong. I should have told him beforehand. I realized that. I fought the urge to bang my head on the wall as we entered the kitchen. Riley was sitting up straight at the table with a plateful of spaghetti and meatballs in front of him without eating a bite. Just waiting politely for us, the picture of the perfect, pleasant, thoughtful houseguest. I almost groaned. He was trying. Trying really hard. He wanted my dad to like him. I felt sad, guilty, and angry simultaneously.

Riley looked up as we entered and gave an agreeable little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Smells delicious, Mr. Gates. All of it. Thank you."

My dad shot me a look before giving his own fake smile and sitting in his chair. I followed suit, taking the seat next to my friend. "Glad you like it," Dad said. We started into the food, Riley waiting until both me and my dad had taken a bite before he even picked up his fork. "So," Dad said after a moment. "Riley is it?"

Riley quickly swallowed his mouthful to spout out a "Yes, sir." It was a little too loud and a lot too forced. He must've realized it because he gave a little awkward cough.

My dad nodded once. Said nothing. I tried to start a conversation. "Hey, have you heard from Aunt Johnna? How's she feeling?"

"Better. She's getting better," he answered, though his eyes were still on Riley. "So what happened to you, son?"

It took Riley a second to figure out my dad was talking to him rather than me. "Um, sorry?"

"Your face. What happened?"

"Dad, I don't know if this is the right time…"

"No. No, it's okay," Riley cut in. "Um. Well, I…There was an incident up at the school…"

"Riley helped the police catch a group of guys who'd defrauded students out of over half a million dollars. It didn't sit too well with those guys." I was trying to help. My dad wasn't going to let this go. The man really just couldn't wait until we were alone to have this discussion. Any high ground he'd had he'd just forfeited.

Riley looked flustered. "Well, I didn't really…"

"Really?" It was Dad's turn to cut in. "So…you're the hero in this story, then?"

"No, sir. Ben's the hero."

"Mmhm." Dad nodded. "That how he got beat up?"

Riley flinched and started to open his mouth to answer, and I'm not sure even he knew what was going to come out in response to that. But I was done. I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. "That's enough." Took the man less than five minutes to push things too far, and I didn't need it, and I sure as heck wasn't going to let Riley take that from him.

"Sit down, Ben," my father said amiably. "Eat." This only fueled my anger more. Riley looked like he'd just swallowed a meatball whole.

"Dad," I began slowly. "Leave him alone."

Riley was looking down at his plate, almost like he wished a meatball would swallow him whole. "Ben…"

"Oh, calm down, Ben. We're just talking."

"Not talking. Interrogating. Stop it."

"You will not tell me what to do in my own house. You will not speak to me like a child. Not when you've brought a perfectly good one into the house." He gestured to Riley without really looking at him, half-smiling like he'd made a bad joke. But he wasn't kidding. He was angry. He really thought _he _had a right to be angry.

And that was it. My hand hit the table. Riley jumped. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

He stood to face me, jaw set, eyes flashing. "With me," he nodded quickly like he thought it was the most absurd question in the world but he still somehow expected it. "What's wrong with me? You don't take my advice—fine. You know what you want no matter how foolish and impossible—fine. But then on top of that, you throw yourself into everything blindly! And I have to stand back and wait for you to get hurt! And you wonder what's wrong with _me_?"

I shook my head madly. "Is this about the treasure? You're making _this_ about the treasure?"

"This isn't about that confounded treasure! This is about your life! You dive into everything with the same dogged determination, the same mule-headed stubbornness with no regard for yourself whatsoever. You leave me with no choice but to stand back and watch you slowly destroy yourself. Everything is more important to you than your own well-being, and you can't acknowledge that because to do so would be to recognize that you yourself are important! Why can't you stop, Ben? Why can't you pause for one moment and realize that people care about you? You…you impossible, thick-headed…." He trailed off and wiped his hand over his mouth. He seemed to calm somewhat as I stood and stared. He suddenly looked old. He'd never been old. Whatever else he wanted to say, he waved it off with a heavy, disappointed sigh. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. You know where everything is." He turned and walked slowly, almost shuffling, down the hall toward his bedroom.

I still stood, staring, breathing in and out through my mouth, my heart beating harder than normal. It was strange. Strange that even after all those years, getting yelled at by my dad still had the power to make my heart pound, my hands shake. I rubbed at my eyes. The man had no idea what he was talking about. No idea whatsoever. I wasn't self-destructive. I wasn't. I just knew what risks were acceptable compared to the gain. And it still drove me crazy that my father didn't understand that.

Next to me, Riley rose slowly from his seat, his eyes as wide and guilty as could be. "Maybe I should just…"

I caught his shoulder and gently pushed him back down in his seat, sitting down in the chair next to him. "You're fine. I'm sorry," I said, mind still racing. I let out a long sigh and then looked at him. "You know none of that was about you, right?"

"Ah…" He cleared his throat. "You sure?"

"Trust me. That was all about me. I'm really sorry you had to hear it. _Really _sorry he put you in the middle like that. That was…. I mean it's probably hard on him around the holidays with Mom gone and…. Well, there's no excusing that, though."

"Well, but if I'm making things harder…"

"That fight would've happened without you here. Trust me. Eat your dinner."

"I'm really not all that…" I shot him a look. He picked up his fork. "Starving. Thanks."

We ate for a few minutes in silence which felt plain weird. Then he said, "That stuff he said? About you not really caring…?"

"Not true," I said simply. "I like living. I plan on continuing for a good long time."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded with a tight little smile. "Man," he said around a mouthful of spaghetti. "Parents just don't understand."

NTNTNTNTNTNT

The next couple of days passed by pretty uneventfully. Dad had calmed down. I'd calmed down. He and I…we fight and then we get over it. We don't talk about it or hash it out later. We move on and pretend it never happened, and we both like it that way. That's also probably the reason why we keep having the same fights over and over again. But I guess that's neither here nor there.

There were, however, a few issues that rose up that I didn't really have any idea what to do about. All of them centered around a certain blue-eyed geek. First of all, my dear father still hadn't warmed up to him. No, he wasn't hostile. Patrick Gates rarely is. But the man made it clear that he had no intention of getting to know the kid beyond what was necessary under the rules of etiquette between homeowner and houseguest. And I like to think of myself as a pretty level-headed man. But good grief if that didn't wear on every last nerve I possessed.

And then there was Riley. Or I guess it'd be more accurate to say and then there _wasn't _Riley. The Riley I knew was MIA. I didn't know what it was, but the kid seemed to have gone into this meek and mild mode that was so opposite of anything I'd ever seen from him…Well, no, I suppose that's not completely true. It was a little like he'd been with me when I'd first brought him to my apartment, though that felt like ages ago. And this was about a million times worse. I didn't even know what to do with it. Around my dad, everything was "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," or "Can I help with that?" or "Please, I don't want to be a burden." And I think I'd heard too many thank yous and sorrys to count. The only time the real Riley came out to play was when he and I were alone. I didn't think I'd be capable of missing his sarcasm, but believe me, after spending a day with his evil, too-polite clone I was ready to back the car over his laptop just to get some kind of a reaction.

We were getting back Monday night from a basketball game. Dad and I had made it a point to catch at least one game at my old high school any time I was home during the season. It's one of those weird father/son traditions neither father nor son truly understands. I hadn't even played basketball in high school. But it's something fun that gives a couple guys like us something to focus on and talk about without getting into an argument. It may come as a shock, but sometimes, we need that.

It had been a fun night, but any hopes I'd had of Riley coming out of that maddening, agreeable shell had been quickly dashed to pieces. He'd sat. Took it all in. And from first quarter to final second, that mask of a smile stayed firmly in place. I hated that.

It didn't take long after we got in before my dad announced he was hitting the sack. My "Good night" was echoed by Riley's. Then it was just the two of us sitting on the living room couch. Then it was just me sitting on the living room couch as Riley stood and stretched.

"I think I'm going to go to bed, too. Night, Ben."

"You have fun today?" I asked casually.

"Yep. Especially loved your rant on the history of your school building." He smirked. "You know you have a problem."

"It wasn't a rant. It was a discussion," I informed him.

"Then it wasn't a yawn. It was a gasp of delight," he informed me right back. His smirk morphed itself into his grin as he caught the pillow I chucked at him. "Future museum tour guide."

"Future forty-five-year-old video game addict."

"Psychotic history Nazi."

"Geek."

"Nerd."

"Pot."

"Kettle!" He dissolved into a fit of giggles as I launched up and slung an arm around his neck, tossing him back onto the couch, being way more careful than I let on of the still-healing bruises. His and mine.

"Teenagers," I muttered without heat. "No respect."

He was sprawled sideways on the couch, eyes bright and unshuttered and smiling. He grinned. "Old people. No sense of humor."

I tried to look fierce, but my relieved grin probably ruined that effect totally as I sank down next to him, smacking him on his uninjured leg for good measure. He just laughed. It occurred to me that he'd probably missed himself even more than I had. I don't think I'd heard him laugh—I mean really laugh—any time in the past two days.

So of course, I asked. "So what's with you these past couple days?"

His eyes darted off before I could catch them. "What do you mean?" he asked conversationally.

"You know. You haven't really been…you."

He gave this little, uncomfortable smile. "Existentially speaking, I don't think that's entirely possible."

I shook my head. "You know what I mean. Please relax, Riley. I'm telling you, it's okay. Let yourself ease up a little."

"I'm not sure what you…"

"Was it just me, or did the kitchen seem considerably cleaner when I got up this morning than when I went to bed?" He didn't say anything. He did roll his eyes, however, which strangely enough, made me feel a bit better. "You been having nightmares?"

"No. You?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too." He nodded, biting his bottom lip. His eyes checked mine real quick before flicking back down to the cushion he was holding.

I gave a commiserating smile. I'd jerked awake more than once during the past couple of nights. Images of me getting killed, of Riley getting killed. Either one could have so easily happened, my subconscious in all its cruelty felt the need to keep reminding me. I figured Riley must be having the same problem. Though I knew he'd had way more experience at the nightmare thing than I had. My respect for the kid had doubled. "Okay, how about this," I said. He raised his eyebrows to let me know he was listening. "You have a nightmare, you come talk to me. I have a nightmare, I come talk to you."

"How about, you have a nightmare, you come talk to me. I have a nightmare, I…defrag your dad's hard drive?" He did that goofy innocent blinking thing he does.

"How about we watch a movie and talk or don't?" Less complicated negotiations to organize a salvage dive. I swear.

Riley still looked skeptical. "Does your dad have any good movies?"

"He's got a whole big VHS collection in the storage space in the ottomans," I assured him. "You'll find something you like."

"VHS tapes, huh?" He smirked. "Didn't realize your dad was so extensive in his collecting of antiques."

"Techno-snob."

"Technophobe."

I nearly growled. "So do we have a deal or what?"

"I wake up screaming, I come get a movie instead of doing something useful. Got it." He rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine, Ben. Nothing new for me, you know?"

"I know. Little new for me, though. Nightmares suck."

For some reason that made him grin a little. Maybe because I was starting to sound like him a little bit. Heaven help me. "You'll get past 'em," he said with a kind of really casual assurance. "Everything turned out okay with us. Eventually your head'll wrap itself around the concept, and everything'll get back to normal."

I nodded. "I know it will." I did. Everything did turn out okay with us, which was why I hadn't gone crazy. Tore my heart up for Riley, though. Because I knew that things hadn't all turned out okay for him. I wanted to ask him how he managed to not be crazy. But I didn't of course. Instead I found a smile. "'Night, kid."

He gave an ironic little raised-eyebrows grin. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

_Riley_

To say I felt horrible would've been like saying Muhammad Ali felt he was an okay boxer. Understatement of the century type stuff. I mean, I'm not a rocket scientist. I'm a computer scientist. So I'm still pretty smart. Point is, I was more than capable of using my gift of intelligence to figure out that Mr. Patrick Gates didn't want me anywhere around his house or his son. Wasn't real hard to figure out why, either. If I was Ben's dad, I'd hate me, too. I got Ben killed. I mean, pretty much. In any other reality, if any little anything had changed, Ben would've died that day, and it would've been completely my fault. Suffice it to say, I pretty much don't sleep anymore.

So that's the biggest reason why I felt beyond horrible. Second reason: apparently me being there and Gates Sr. not loving that fact opened up a whole treasure trove of unresolved father/son type issues that they obviously try to keep buried. And yes, I meant to say "treasure trove".

And that would be enough. But those two things are not the only reasons. The last reason was kind of the icing on the cake, because it was just stupid. It wasn't enough that I almost got my best friend killed (because yeah, I'd pretty much acknowledged in my mind at this point that there was no use pretending Ben wasn't my best friend), and it wasn't enough that I was chinking away at his already strained relationship with his father. No, to top it all off…I was still kind of glad I was there. How pathetic is that? I mean, how sad is it that even after all the horrible, life-threatening trouble I'd caused, I was still just happy Ben wanted me around? Geeze. So yeah, reason number three: I felt bad for not doing what I should've done, what the right thing would've been, and leaving. 'Cause I liked it that Ben still fussed about my breathing and my stitches and would ask if I was okay and chuckle or roll his eyes and grin when I said something funny and notice when I was there and when I wasn't and have nightmares because he'd been so scared I was gonna die. Yep. I even kind of liked that he had nightmares about me. Man. How big is the trophy for Worst Friend in the World? If I needed to buy a bigger shelf for it, I could always just hit Ben up for the money. Yeesh.

But anyways, I think the point I'm trying to make is: I felt like a jerk. So I did what I could to keep my head low, help out around the house, not step on any toes, that kind of thing. It's really not that hard. I'd been perfecting this technique for like five years. It's a survival skill. When you grow up living in other people's houses learning other people's rules, you learn how to adapt. Sometimes it doesn't work out real well, but hey, sometimes it does.

I think it hit me somewhere between giving Mr. Gates a "Yes, sir," that it was basically like...like I was a foster kid again. He'd told me in his roughly polite way that I didn't need to set the table but if I was going to could I please use the other glasses. And I told him yes, sir. And kinda froze for a second. It bothered me. Not just a little, either. I'd worked so hard to get out of that system. It worried me how easily I could slip back into those routines. Try to make them like you. Try to get them to let you stay. I didn't want to be that kid anymore.

_That's not what this is, _I told myself. _This isn't a foster home. You're just trying to get on Ben's dad's good side. Make life a little easier for your friend. _And that was true. Totally true. But still, it bugged me.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_The trees grew and shrank, and some of them turned into rocks and changed back again, but none of them ever moved behind me because I was running and going nowhere. I looked down, but instead of the dirt and plants of a forest floor, it was all sand, and I knew my whole world was about to end. I pushed on, and trees and bushes grabbed and scraped at me, but I couldn't feel anything. And then ahead, I saw them. Ben. Kent was holding the gun, a steady finger on the trigger, a smile painted on his face. I screamed, but I couldn't hear it. There was a roar, and Kent was gone, and the gun was gone, and Ben was on the ground, and I was there. His chest moved up and down, and every time it did, more blood bubbled up from the hole in his chest. I could hear it. He was looking straight through me, like he couldn't see. He couldn't see anything. And then his chest stopped. _

_More and more liquid came gushing from his wound, but this time, it was water, it was too much water, and it kept rising, flooding the whole world, I think, and I couldn't breathe and I didn't want to. And then my knees were on the sand, and his body landed in front of me. And I couldn't cry because there was too much water already. I reached out as fast as I could, but my whole body was heavy, and I had to turn him over before everything inside me broke. I had to see him. His chest still didn't move. He was dead. He was dead and there was a million tons of invisible water crushing my chest. He was dead, and it was all my fault, and I was so so sorry, and nothing was ever supposed to hurt like this. My eyes moved up, desperate to find his. But it wasn't Ben anymore. It was…_

My eyes snapped open, and I sucked in a breath so hard it hurt. My body was shaking and hot and cold and sweaty, and my heart was beating way too fast, and my lungs were trying to get ahead of themselves, and I barely noticed. I sat up and threw my legs over the edge of the bed, and buried my head in my hands, raking my fingers over my eyes and my temples like I could maybe scrub the images out. "What the heck," I whispered, and it came out sounding more like a whimper than a question, but at that point, I didn't care. I stood up. I hate the way houses sound at night. All houses. Every house I've ever been in sounds exactly the same at night. Like you don't want to move because every little sound is an explosion because everything is so dark and still you think this place couldn't ever possibly have any light or happiness in it. But all I could really hear right then was my heart and my lungs and the ghosts of gunshots and rushing water.

I left the guest room without making any sound and crept down the hall to Ben's room without even really thinking about it because all I really knew right then was that I needed to hear something that wasn't in my head. I turned the knob all the way and pushed the door open before stepping in. I took a few steps closer to the bed, and for a second, all I saw was a still form in the darkness, and my mind told me it was true, and he was dead, too. Then I heard the sound that called my mind a liar. He was breathing. Loud enough for me to hear it, soft enough not to make explosions in the quiet stillness. I closed my stinging eyes for a second, let out a little breath of relief even though I knew I was acting crazy. "He's okay." It was more like I mouthed the words than whispered them. But still. "He's okay."

I reached my hand behind me and backed up until I felt the wall and then slid down until I was sitting on the hardwood floor, knees tucked up to my chest, holding my lungs steady. Listened to him breathe. In. Out. He was okay. In. Out. Long, perfect breaths. I remembered our deal. He'd woken me up the night before. He wasn't just being polite, either; he was pretty shook up. We watched _Flying Deuces _and it was pretty good quality even though it was VHS and pretty old because apparently his dad's a big Laurel and Hardy fan, and Ben told me in his dream I got killed. And it really scared him. And then we were quiet for awhile, and then we talked about everything else in the world and we both laughed about stupid stuff and stupid jokes that we thought were really funny but couldn't remember later. I didn't want that right then. Honestly. I just wanted to sit there in the quiet dark and hear him be alive.

I folded my arms across my knees and rested my chin on top, ignoring the little aches and pains left over from our little adventure. Let out a really deep breath. I knew this was stupid. It wasn't like he'd quit breathing if I quit listening. Although, technically it was possible. What if Ben had that thing where you stop breathing while you sleep…sleep apnea, right? What if he had that? How was I supposed to know? People…people totally had that, and just because Ben hadn't mentioned it, ever, didn't mean he didn't have it. And, logically, people have to develop those kind of conditions _sometime, _so who's to say it wouldn't be that night? When it came right down to it, was it really worth the risk of _not _staying? Exactly.

So while I logicked myself half to death I didn't have to think about the other part of my nightmare and the other body that shattered the entire world for me.

* * *

A/N: Don't worry about Patrick. He's just being Patricky. So stubborn. You know he's got his reasons, though. I'm sure he'll come around eventually. 'Sides, no one with a functioning cardiovascular system can be immune to those baby blues forever, right?

Whoa. Hey. Chapter 13 on Friday the 13th. Weird. Heh. Who noticed that? Well, I guess, who in my time zone who's actually awake right now. Geeze, what time is it? I gotta go to bed.

And yeah, I don't think my next update'll take quite as long. Cough. And I know after my dropped-off-the-face-of-the-earth routine, I deserve to be shunned at least a little. Heh. But I hope ya'll are doing well, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Blessings!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hey! Been awhile, right? But less than a year, right? I really wanted this up by Thanksgiving, but I couldn't get that to happen. Unfortunately, I've got so many other projects going on right now. But I still love this fandom and this movie and its characters and, more so, you guys! So, sorry for the delay, those of you who still review (wow!), but here's a new chappie just for you. Plus, it's super long. Don't know how that happens. Hee. Hope you like.

Chapter 14

_Ben_

Of all the things I would've expected to see upon opening my eyes first thing in the morning, let me give an example of something that _wouldn't _have made the list: Riley Poole sitting curled up against the wall, head pillowed on his arms, asleep. I blinked. What in the…?

I didn't move. Just watched him for a second. Okay. This was weird. _What are you doing here, kid? _I wondered how long he'd been there like that. It couldn't be comfortable, but wow, he was _out_. I suddenly wondered if this was the first time he'd been really fast asleep since he got over that concussion. So why would he be sitting in here…? I sighed. Duh.

_Nightmare, huh? _I nodded to myself._ Broke our deal, you know. _Little twerp had a nightmare, and he was too stubborn or too embarrassed to wake me up but still felt the need to come in and check on me, which could only mean he'd seen me die. I held in another sigh. _Ah, Riley. _Like the kid took lessons on the most effective ways of breaking my heart. I sighed quietly. I knew the kid would be mortified if he woke up and realized I knew what happened. There was no need for that.

I let out a sleepy groan and rolled over to face the other wall, making enough noise to wake him but not so much that he would think I was in any way coherent. Sure enough, a second later, I heard the soft click of my door shutting behind him. When I rolled back over, he was indeed gone. Poor kid. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the week definitely hadn't gone as I'd planned. _Should've planned on that._ I buried my face in the pillow and moaned loudly enough for it to echo back in my ears. Then I rolled onto my back and muttered at the ceiling, "There's got to be a way to salvage this." Because, hey, if there's any way something can be salvaged, I'm usually the guy to find it. Seriously.

I reached over and grabbed the cordless phone off the nightstand, dialing without really thinking too hard, and waited until it was answered. "Mel." Always hire a salvage _crew_. Learned that the hard way off the coast of Massachusetts.

She'd answered on the fourth ring. I expected a cheery hello. What I got was, "Ben? Gah, do you have any idea what time it is?"

I looked at the clock. It read 7:49. She was in Minnesota. So that would've made it… "What, 6:49? That's not _that_ early."

"I'm on vacation. Unless someone's dying, you never call me before noon from now on. Got it?"

I smirked and tucked one hand behind my head. She really did sound tired, which was funny because she's usually so happy song-bird in the mornings. "What? Stay up late watching reruns of _Red_ _Green_ with the fam?"

"I will kill you."

That made me chuckle a bit. "Okay. Sorry. Never again."

"Thank you."

There was a brief moment of silence. "But seeing as how you're already awake…?"

"Oh, just say what you're going to say," she said only a little grudgingly. I'm almost certain she was curious as to why in the world I'd be calling her. Actually, she's bright enough, she probably already had an idea.

I took a deep breath. "I've been confronted with a small problem."

"Small as in about 5'6", 135 pounds, soulful blue eyes, answers to Riley?"

"Wow. What else does your crystal ball tell you?" I asked dryly.

"That depends on whether you can pay my four bucks per minute." She cut to the chase then with a patiently asked, "What happened, Ben?"

So I told her. Most if not all of it. Dad, the nightmares, the Stepford Riley. "And frankly, I hoped it would just…go away. I figured Dad would've calmed down by now, which apparently was hoping for too much. Honestly, I'm not even completely sure I know what his problem _is_. I've explained to him that nothing that happened was Riley's fault. He says he gets it. But still he's acting like a jerk, albeit very subtly, but that somehow makes it all the more infuriating. For crying out loud, I don't think he's even spoken the kid's name. Not once. It's always 'the boy.' And since Dad hasn't calmed down, Riley's not only walking on eggshells, he's going back and sweeping them up and then smiling and taking out the trash. It's ridiculous. Ridiculous and pointless. There's no reason the three of us shouldn't be able to get along and have an easy, relaxing, fun Thanksgiving. And it's my fault because _I'm _the one who brought Riley here and told him it would be okay, and he'd be welcome, and…and I really just want to punch my dad a little." Admittedly, that last part may not have been completely true. But even so. I was so frustrated the idea wasn't completely unappealing.

"Ben…"

"And you know what? I don't care. I don't care what my dad does. This week was supposed to be for Riley. Kid deserves a week off, and he's not getting it because for some reason only he understands, my dad decided to pick this week to suddenly become a grumpy old man." And what I wasn't admitting was that that fact really hurt. "So that's why I'm calling you. For Riley. You…you get how his mind works a little I think. So how do I fix him? How do I break him out of this? How do I make him…him again? He won't really talk to me, you know?"

"You mean like he usually does?" This question was obviously not really a question. Melanie's one of the few people who knows I can be really slow. Most people will describe me as brilliant, eccentric, or crazy. But yes, I can be slow.

"What?"

"Ben, he's not going to talk to you. You want him to talk, you've gotta do most of the talking for him."

I shook my head. "That makes no sense."

She explained. "When you go awhile when you don't _have _anyone to talk to, you get way too used to _not _talking. It's not an easy habit to break, Ben. Bottling stuff up…you don't do it because you're stubborn. You do it because it's a defense mechanism. And then you get kind of addicted. It's…it's hard to quit."

"Okay," I said slowly. "The kid's an addict. How do we get him…off the bottle?"

"Well, if you're waiting for him to do it himself, you'll be waiting awhile. You gain his trust, which you're already doing. Then you make him comfortable. Then you pry."

That sounded like a horrible plan. "Melanie…"

"You ask him questions, Ben. You have to. The only way he's going to open up is if you care enough to ask. And he might fight it, and you might feel like a jerk, and he might even call you a jerk, but if you want him to open up to you, you have to find a way to make him trust you, find a setting where he'll feel comfortable talking to you, and then you need to ask him questions he needs to answer."

"What if he doesn't want to?"

"Ben, he _doesn't_ want to. That's kind of the point. He doesn't want to, but he needs to, and if he really trusts you, he'll talk to you if you ask."

"How do you know?"

"That's the thing. Anybody can get anyone to spill their guts about anything so long as that person really trusts them. And Ben, I think Riley might really trust you. And if not, he's getting pretty close, and I know how scary that can be."

"Okay." I nodded. "So…how do I make him comfortable? He's not going to be comfortable here. Not with my dad being the way he is. And I can't leave early either. I would feel guilty, Riley would think it was all his fault, and my dad would wind up alone on Thanksgiving."

"Have you tried talking to your dad?"

I rolled my eyes. "Have _you _tried talking to my dad? The man can be pretty impossible."

"Really? You know there's a saying that involves apples and trees…"

"Mel."

"Ben. If you need to talk to Riley now, if you don't think it can wait, then you need to fix this thing with your dad. I don't know the man real well, but he can't be completely unreasonable. Or, even if he is, he can't be completely heartless. Isn't there something you can do to get him to…make his peace with Riley? Something to let him know how special this kid is?"

I thought about it. I didn't like that I had to prove to my dad that my friend was worthwhile. Not when it was already so blindingly obvious. But then maybe that was the key. Maybe if I just got them both away from the house. Got them somewhere where Riley could be Riley regardless of whether or not my dad was around. Something both of them would enjoy. Like what? The two were polar opposites. What was I going to find in Hartford, Connecticut that was going to magically bring everybody together? Pretty sure the Mark Twain House wasn't going to cut it. Or the Museum of Connecticut History. Or even the Bushnell Park Carousel. I gave a frustrated sigh. "I don't…" And to this day, I have no idea where I got this idea. It was the kind of idea that's so far out in left field it just sort of drops down and takes you so much by surprise you think it must be the answer. Sometimes I forget I'm an idealist. "I think I've got an idea."

"You usually have several. This one does have something to do with what we're talking about, right?"

"Yes. Thanks, Melanie. You're brilliant."

"If you think I'm too sleepy to remember you said that, you're sadly mistaken, Ben Gates. I will remind you of this every chance I get."

"As well you should. I've got to go."

"Wait, wait, wait; aren't you going to tell me what this inspired idea of yours is?"

"I'll call you later and tell you if it worked. Thanks for listening. You can go back to sleep now if you want."

"Ah, bless you."

"Bye." I set the phone down and sat up, stretching and psyching myself up for the day. This would work. This was crazy enough to work. I get a lot of mileage out of the whole "it's just crazy enough to work" line.

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

"So you really aren't going to tell us where we're going?" my dad asked for the umpteenth time since I'd announced at breakfast that I had an idea of what we should do that day. I hadn't given him any clues, either, which had annoyed him. Which…I enjoyed a little.

"Nope," I said easily. Riley was in the back, sitting straight and looking like a thirteen year old trying not to look sick of his parents' arguing. The bruises on his face had done a good job of healing, which made them that faded yellow-green color. Mine were about that stage, too.

"Well, are we almost there?" Dad demanded.

"Yes." Because we were, actually. It only took about another minute before I was pulling into the parking lot. The lot was surprisingly full. I wouldn't have thought so many would be up for this sort of thing on the day before Thanksgiving. But maybe their families were as dysfunctional as mine, and they needed something to do that would keep their minds off whatever their problems were.

My dad was looking out the windshield, peering at the sign over the old, converted warehouse. "We're…stopping here to ask for directions, right?"

"Well, we'd look like idiots seeing as how this is the place I was looking for."

Riley was sitting forward, now, confusion scribbled all over his face. "Whoa. Seriously?" First words he'd said the entire trip that weren't the result of a direct question.

I shrugged. "It sounded fun. I've never done this before."

Dad snorted. "That's probably because it probably hadn't been invented when you were young enough for it to be appropriate," he told me, gesturing at the place like he does when he believes he's superior/right. "This place is for children. Why don't we just spend the rest of the day at Chuck E. Cheese?"

"Well then what would we have left to do tomorrow?" And with one of my little grins that really make him grind his teeth, I opened the car door and got out. The sky was gray and overcast, and there was definitely rain in the forecast. All the better that we'd be inside. Riley stood next to me, fixing me with the most suspicious-looking gaze I'd ever seen from him. I'm pretty sure he was trying to figure out if this was my idea of a joke, if I was clueless, or if maybe I was just a little insane.

My dad crossed his arms, still planted firmly in the passenger seat, peering at me through the open driver's side door. "Well, I'm not going in there." The funny thing was, he kind of sounded like a pouting ten year old.

"Fine. Stay in the car. I'll crack a window."

"Ben…"

"Or you could quit acting like you're ninety and try something new. I think you'll like this."

Riley looked less sure. Ever the peacemaker, he said, "Ben, maybe we should just go somewhere…"

"Ah!" I cut him off with an index finger raised in warning. This surprised him.

"Ben…"

"Ah! No."

"B…"

"Shh." He gave up and scowled at me, crossing his arms. I looked back through the car at my dad. "So are you coming or not?"

His eyes never leaving mine, he reached down and pulled the handle to open the door. He stepped out. "This is absurd." With that, he slammed the door and headed for the building.

With Dad's back safely turned, I glanced at Riley and grinned. The kid shook his head, watching my dad go. "He looks…rather unhappy," he observed. He was trying so hard not to grin, too. He did a decent job; I'll give him that.

"He'll get over it."

"Mm-hm." He looked at me. "Just tell me this isn't some mid-life crisis thing for you. 'Cause if it is, might I suggest buying a Harley or something?"

"Quit pretending you're not excited about this." Mid-life crisis. Young punk. I gave him a little shove and followed after my dad. "We gotta go get in line!" I clapped my hands. "Get our guns! Right? Blast some serious…other…stuff! I bet you anything I'll win something."

He trailed behind me, and I could hear the smile he was trying to keep out of his voice as he said, "You don't even know what laser tag is, do you?"

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

_Patrick_

There was a line. We had to wait in line to do this thing. We got to the front where they gave us these gadgets that fit over our chests and plastic guns that made blasting sounds, and then they pushed us into a large dark room full of neon lights and obstacles and tunnels and such with some kind of overloud heavy rock musing blaring from high-mounted speakers. I tried to remember if I still had that bottle of ibuprofen in my car. There was a red team and a blue team, identifiable by the colored lights on our equipment. Ben and I were both on the red team along with Ben's young guest and four or five other kids around his age with their parents. Our team entered the room first and was allowed twenty-five seconds to disperse and find sufficient cover. It really was quite a tactical advantage, I thought.

I knew the entire idea of being in that place was ridiculous. But I found myself there nonetheless, and I am a competitive man by nature. In fact, it's probably that competitive nature that has lost me so much in my lifetime. But that's neither here nor there. I had twenty-five seconds to devise a strategy to win the game. So I directed Ben and the boy toward a structure at the east side of the room. I had Ben climb up to the top of this structure, assuming it was sturdily made—there were foot and handholds that went up the side, so this assumption was well-founded. I placed myself below behind a sort of pillar. By that time, the blue team had already entered. We spent that round with a sort of mutually understood stratagem in which the boy would run out, draw the fire of a few of the blue team members, and lead them back to where Ben and I were ready with an ambush. Ben and the boy would holler nonsensical comments to each other trying to sound like soldiers, and using terms like "RV point" and "collateral damage" and, I'm pretty sure one of them used the word "stat!" at one point, their smiles glowing under the black lights. Once I had relaxed a little, I even joined in with the comments some myself. To my surprise, and though I'd never admit it, the game wasn't completely unenjoyable. Loud music aside, the experience was sort of exciting. That and, strictly speaking, we dominated that blue team in there.

When the buzzer sounded, both teams filed back out to the ready room and removed the gear. They gave us score cards on which they'd given us stats on both personal and team performance. Of the three of us, I had the highest accuracy score, Ben had fired the most shots, and the boy had been hit the most times. Though to be fair, that probably reflected as much on our modus operandi as anything else.

We had to wait before we could go in for another round as the next group took up their arms and were ushered in. I followed Ben out into a larger part of the building where there was a video game arcade, concessions, and a sitting area full of tables and chairs. It was this sitting area that Ben directed us to, insisting the boy sit down. The teenager rolled his eyes, but I did notice he'd been favoring his right leg. I didn't know what was wrong with him, but thinking back, in the past few days, he would develop a bit of a limp after a moderate amount of walking. Of course, I had to assume it must be part of the seemingly endless list of injuries my son and his guest had walked through my door with a few days previously. Still, all that running around in there couldn't have been good for his condition.

"Ben. I'm fine. Seriously." The boy looked embarrassed by the attention as he sat, his eyes darting around to see if people he didn't know had noticed and were watching. I had to smile a little at that. I looked at Ben, suddenly remembering the young man he had been. My son at that age had been all confidence and determination until his mother would show up in front of his friends with little Ben stories. From what I remembered of his whining tone, it nearly matched the one I'd just heard from the boy. Ah. To be a paranoid teenager.

"What's the matter with your leg?" I heard myself ask with no small measure of concern. It was a sudden, unexpected kind of concern.

He looked at me the way he always did when I spoke directly to him, which admittedly hadn't been often. It was a surprised, nervously blinking, downward glancing kind of look. Like he had a hard time maintaining eye contact. Like he was afraid I would see something in his eyes I wasn't supposed to. One of the things that rubbed me wrong about him. "I just…scraped it," he answered.

Ben snorted. "Scraped it. Uh-huh. How many stitches are holding you together right now?"

The boy raised his eyebrows at Ben with a little grin. "Too many?"

"Fourteen." Ben looked at me like the answer was for my benefit, though there was almost a note of pride in his voice definitely directed toward the boy.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say to that. I believe I said "Ouch."

"Exactly." Ben slapped his hand on the table and stood up. "So. I'm going to get us some…nachos."

The boy went to stand up. Without even looking, as though he had some sixth sense, Ben caught the boy by the shoulder before he'd risen halfway out of his seat and pushed him back down. How did Ben do that? The boy seemed to wonder the same thing. He blinked his eyes. "Don't you…need help?" He nodded, trying to get Ben to nod with him, obviously leading the witness. The boy didn't want to be left alone with me.

"Nope. Thank you, though. Rest your leg. We'll need you fit for the next round." The hand Ben had on the boy's shoulder squeezed for a moment before Ben was suddenly off toward the concession stand.

I looked back at the boy across from me just in time to catch him staring at me with that nearly fearful expression. He quickly dropped his attention to the tabletop, rubbing something imaginary off the surface with his index finger. There was a moment of silence that wasn't at all comfortable. He opened his mouth, but shut it quickly and swallowed.

I knew I should say something. I cleared my throat. "You were excellent at drawing their fire," I opened awkwardly. Honestly, I don't even really know where that came from. That's what happens when I'm forced to make up words on the spot like that. They come out sounding like nonsense.

His eyes glanced up at me. "Thank you. Uh…rare gift." He scratched the back of his head, and gave this tiny smirk that was almost a smile but not quite.

I opened my mouth again, resigning myself to whatever idiotic string of words would no doubt come pouring forth, but was interrupted by a lovely young teenage girl who'd found her way up to our table. She gave me a quick smile, but then her eyes were on the boy.

"Um…hi," she said, casting a quick glance down at the floor before they raised back to his with a shy smile.

I looked at the boy. He was staring wide-eyed at her like he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't a hallucination. He shot me a look, perhaps checking to make sure I saw her, too.

The girl quickly held out a hooded jacket. "Is this yours? I found it in the other room." It obviously didn't belong to him. For one thing, he was still wearing his jacket. I held in a smile. Very smooth, little girl.

He tilted his head a bit, like he hadn't heard her question.

Oh, now, this was ridiculous. I stuck my foot out under the table, pressing down on his instep and cleared my throat loudly.

He nearly jumped. "What?" He looked at me, nearly shocked. I simply gave a pointed tilt of the head toward the girl. He swallowed, and his eyes jumped back to her. "Oh. Ah…no." He shook his head. "Nooo. Actually. It's not. But…um. Thank you. Though."

She smiled again. "Oh. Sorry. Um. Well, then. I'm gonna go. Maybe we'll be on the same team next round."

He was nodding dazedly. "Yeah." He watched her go. Not in a sick sort of way. In a confused sort of way. He turned to me as though I might have the answer to some unspoken question. "That…never happens. Ever."

I offered him a small smile. It probably really was more of a smirk. But it was an encouraging smirk, I thought. I turned toward the retreating girl. "Young lady?"

She turned, several yards away. "Yes, sir?"

"That coat belongs to my son." I nodded over to where Ben stood in line.

The boy sat up a little straighter. "Oh. Yeah. Oh." I believe it really just then occurred to him. "That is his." He waved his hand in Ben's general direction. "Sorry."

She smiled and set the coat on the chair with a little chuckle. "Don't worry. I could never pick anything my dad wears out of a crowd either. It's like all men kind of dress the same at this stage." Her face reddened slightly as she looked suddenly appalled. I think maybe we all were. "Wow, that sounded… Not that your dad dresses…I don't even know your dad. It's…it's a great coat. Yours, too. Um. Never mind." She deliberately closed her mouth before starting over with an embarrassed smile. "I'm just gonna go again." She pointed with both index fingers back toward her own table. "O-kay."

I waited for him to correct her as she turned. As she made her way back to her family. He didn't. He sat there stunned, staring at the table, his face suddenly pale, hands limp on his lap.

I shook my head, biting down on the inside of my cheek. I don't know what that girl was thinking. Of course, people that young assume that anyone older… But that Ben could possibly be… Well, of course, technically, it would be _possible_, but… They don't even _look_ anything… And even if they did…

Ben appeared then with a tray of nachos topped with beef and that yellow liquid fake cheese and he had a smile to match. "Hey. Making friends?" He nodded in the direction the girl had gone. Then he noticed the look on the boy's face. His expression morphed into one of concern, and his hand seemed to automatically reach out. "Hey. Are you…"

The boy jumped and shrank away from the touch, standing abruptly. "Yeah. No, actually…actually, I don't…I don't feel really good. I think, I just…I'm gonna wait. I'll wait out here. You two can go…go in there. I'm okay. I just…"

"Riley? What? What's wrong?"

He took another nervous step back, hands slightly raised. "Really, it's nothing. Don't worry. Please. You know. Just kind of…my asthma really. Acting up. I'm just gonna go sit down."

"You _were_ sitting down." Ben frowned.

"Yeah. I know. It's…weird, right? It's…the air in here. It's really dry. I'm just gonna walk outside a little, actually. For a minute."

"You have your inhaler with you?" Ben asked the question slowly, like he was trying to calm a skittish colt.

The boy nodded quickly, pulling the little contraption out of his pocket and taking a quick puff as though offering proof, his eyes wide as could be. It was like he felt guilty. He felt guilty when that girl mistook Ben for his father? Why would that be? Unless the guilt stemmed from something else entirely.

Ben blinked, studying the boy for a moment. "Maybe we should just go…"

"No, no, no, no. Really," the boy insisted. "You already paid and everything. You've got another round…"

I cut in then. "I wouldn't mind going, either, actually."

Ben looked between the two of us, and the boy simply stared at his sneakers, shoulders bunched up nearly to his ears. Ben sighed, and only someone who knew him well would have sensed his disappointment. Which was why it surprised me when the boy nearly winced.

"Really, Ben, I don't…"

"No, no. Come on. Let's get you home."

The boy flinched on that last word, but didn't offer any more protests. Instead, he turned stiffly toward the exit. Ben shot an accusatory look toward me of all people. As though all this were my fault. I glared back at him. He rolled his eyes and followed after the boy.

That boy had some guilty secret. And there went Ben. Following blindly. Didn't matter that the boy's last secret nearly cost my son his life. It was at this point that I'd had about enough.

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

_Ben_

I pulled up to the house. The ride had been quiet. Painfully so. I didn't understand what had happened. Things had been going so well, I thought. There I was, patting myself on the back for the genius of my evil plan to get those two to talk to each other, and it all fell apart. I almost believed that Riley really didn't feel well. The kid looked positively ill. But even if his breathing sounded off, it wasn't the same kind of off that meant his asthma was acting up. I knew the difference. So if it wasn't asthma, what was it? I'd tried to put a hand on his shoulder earlier. Touch him. Let him know I saw him, that I cared. He'd gotten pretty good at accepting that kind of casual physical affection, but this time he shrugged me off. Nearly flinched. All I knew was that when I left him with my dad, he was fine. When I got back, he was not. It was hard to believe my dad would intentionally hurt Riley. But the man seemed to think Riley was an idiot and wouldn't understand the things he said. Suffice it to say, I was boiling.

It didn't help much that as soon as we got inside, Dad asked me, "May I speak with you in the kitchen?"

To which I shortly responded with, "No." Riley was right there, looking pale and nervous and miserable and…just kind of lost. And I didn't know why.

"Ben…"

"No, Dad."

"All right then. We could do it out here."

"We could not do it at all," I volunteered.

Riley had somehow maneuvered himself away from me and now stood at the bottom of the stairs. How did he do that? "I'm tired. I'll just go to bed. Thank you." I would've given him a thousand dollars if he could've named what exactly in the world he was thanking anybody for.

I started to say his name, but he was already most of the way up the stairs. Moved surprisingly fast for a kid who claimed his asthma was bothering him.

I turned back to my father. Shook my head. "No. Oh, no."

"Listen to me, Benjamin Franklin Gates…"

"I really don't see why I should. You haven't given me one good reason to listen to you since the moment you opened the door."

"That little boy is conning you," he suddenly claimed.

"That little boy. 'That little boy' is _conning_ me?" It was so ridiculous I just…I hardly even knew what to say. I struggled to keep my voice low, remembering how sharp Riley's hearing was. "_What_? Dad, you don't even know him. Apparently, you don't even know his _name_. What is it about him you think is so _wrong_?"

"Aside from the fact that he got my son into a dangerous situation, one in which, I'd bet, you could've been killed…"

"Hey, whoa. First of all, I'm fine. Second of all, he didn't drag me into anything. He did everything he could to keep me out of it, but I wouldn't leave it alone."

"You never can."

"Apparently! If you ask me, I'd say _you're_ the one who's hiding something. There's something you're not telling me. What is it exactly you can't stand about that kid?"

"I _don't_ _trust_ _him_, Ben."

"Yeah. I got that. Why? Why not? What's he after, Dad? Tell me that."

His eyes slid to the side before shooting back to meet mine. His version of an eye roll. "Of course, I have no way of knowing."

"That's kind of my point."

"He's hiding something from you. From both of us."

"It really surprises you that he doesn't trust you? That he hasn't spilled all his secrets in order to get your nod of approval? You've been practically hostile toward him since he got here! Good grief, you've practically locked up the silver!"

"He's putting on a show!" He waved his hands wildly in his anger. "Tell me you can't see it! He is playing you. He's after something, and I want to know what it is."

"You're right! He is putting on a show! For you! He's so worried he'll upset you or that he'll cause tension between us that he doesn't even know how to be himself with you in the same room!" I had to take a deep breath. I was so angry. He _still _thought he was right. What? Thought he was _protecting_ me from that kid with the big blue eyes and the fourteen stitches? "Let me ask you this, Dad. Is it him you don't trust, or is it me? I brought him here. He's my friend. I _told_ you he's okay. But you refuse to accept my word, because if you had for one second, if you'd opened your eyes and looked at him for _one second_, you would've see that I'm right. But it's _my_ word you don't trust."

His lips thinned, and he pointed at me. "Don't be ridiculous, and _don't_ make this about you."

"I'm making this about _you_."

"Fine! If you want to bring up the subject, I _don't_ trust your judgment! Why should I? Ever since the day you left this house, it's been one avoidable accident after another. You never know when to say no, you never know when to stop! You take on a project, and you absolutely have to see it through to the end, no matter the cost. And then you come home, with your rolling eyes and your nonchalance, and I'm supposed to hold my tongue. I'm supposed to stay calm, not get upset, and not think about that day that will come far too soon in which I'll get a call and have to go to some dig site or salvage dive or apparently some inner city rent-a-kid program to claim whatever's left of you and hear the whispers of _What a tragedy, _and _If only he'd waited,_ and _What. A. Waste_!" He reached out with angrily shaking hands and placed them on my chest. I don't know why. Maybe like he needed to reassure himself it hadn't happened yet. Then his hands fell back to his sides. "So you don't trust me, and I don't trust you. What else is new?"

I could only shake my head. I had tears in my eyes. Anger. Hurt. "You're wrong." It was all I could say. Everything, all I wanted for Riley, for my dad, for me, it was ruined. How could this be salvaged? How could I get that kid to open up to me now? Get him comfortable. Why should that be so insurmountable a task in the place where I grew up? _He heard_, I knew. I really wished I could've believed that Riley hadn't heard every word that had just been said.

"He doesn't belong to you," my father said. "He's not one of your projects, Ben."

"No. He's not."

"He's hiding something."

"I know. And it's none of your business."

"But you'll make it yours. Because you never know when to quit."

He really wouldn't let it go. I bit my tongue hard. But I couldn't stop the angry words. "I guess I learn from the best."

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

_Riley _

I sat with my back against the bedroom wall, my legs spread out in front of me on the floor. Listening. It's not really eavesdropping if they're talking about you, right? No, actually, I guess what I was doing was pretty much the definition of eavesdropping. Oh. Well. Oops.

I just…it was kind of a habit, really. One of those ingrained things. I'd learned it was good to know what was going on in the house I was living in. Especially if it involved an angry person. It was a self-defense thing, I guess. In almost five years I got pretty good at listening through walls.

I felt terrible. At least I hadn't been lying to Ben when I'd told him I didn't feel good. I didn't. The asthma thing though…that was a blatant lie. But…still.

It shouldn't have freaked me out like that when that girl thought Ben was my dad. The fact that I can't carry on a decent conversation with a pretty girl should've bothered me a lot. But that she'd thought Ben was my dad…why should that be a big deal? Really, it was a natural thing to assume. Ben was far away at the time, too far to see him clearly. He was older. I didn't really think of him as that old, but…whatever. It shouldn't have freaked me out. But it did. Right on the edge of that nightmare, it definitely did. But that…I didn't want to think about that.

And now him and his dad were shouting at each other. Or…kind of whisper shouting, really. Saying awful things. And it was all my fault. I sighed. _Happy Thanksgiving._ Thanksgiving's a family holiday. I shouldn't have let Ben trick me into coming. I let him because I wanted to go with him. I could've backed out. I could've said no.

Mr. Gates thought I was a liar. That I'd get Ben hurt again. Maybe he was right. I'd just lied, hadn't I? Right to his face. Told him my asthma was bothering me when it wasn't. And it wasn't even like that was the first time I'd lied to Ben. And maybe I _would_ get Ben hurt. Bad things just…they just happened to me. I couldn't guarantee that Ben wouldn't get caught in the crossfire again. He'd almost died last time. A guy shot him. It was dumb luck the gun was empty. A guy shot him while I was just standing there. I just stood there. I always just stood there.

This was crazy. It was the day before Thanksgiving. The Gates family should be laughing about something that happened like ten years ago and eating things they weren't supposed to and talking about how close Christmas was and doing whatever traditions belonged to them. Not yelling at each other because of me.

And maybe…maybe I _was_ just kind of like a project to Ben. I mean, not like in a bad way. I knew he…sort of cared about me; he'd already proved that, but…maybe he thought I was just another mission to take on. Like he had to fix things for me, make sure I was okay. I could convince him I didn't need that, and he'd let it go. If I didn't convince him I was really okay, maybe he'd never let go, just like the way he would never let go of that treasure until he found it.

I swallowed. It was the right thing to do. I knew that. But man, it had been so nice. It was still nice, knowing he wouldn't leave unless he knew I was okay. But this was the right thing to do. There was one foster mother, she said, "You always know the right thing because it'll be the hardest." This was definitely the hardest.

I stood up. The small guestroom was just big enough for a double bed and an old wooden writing desk. I opened the top drawer and found a pen and notepad. There was a way to do this right. If I did it wrong, it'd just worry him. I think I wrote a couple rough drafts, but ended up with this:

_Hey, Ben._

_So…I just got an e-mail from an old foster mom I had. Blew me away. She's really amazing, and I know you'd love her. Makes these chicken pot pies that are __so__ freaking good. Anyway, she asked short notice if I'd come up for a Thanksgiving visit. Haven't seen her in years. Don't even know how she tracked me down. How cool is that? It's late, so…didn't want to wake anybody up. She lives in East Longmeadow, so it's not all that far. I'm just going to get a bus ticket. You and your dad have been great, and I'm sorry to skip out on you. I'm just really excited. I knew you'd understand. Thanks for letting me crash here for the week. Tell your dad hey. And happy Thanksgiving._

_P.S. If we ever play laser tag again, don't keep rambling about which Revolutionary War battles our round most resembles. Time and a place, man. Time and a place. _

Casual. Believable. It'd work. I rewrote it fast so it would look like a last minute thing and tucked the throwaway copies in my bag so there'd be no evidence.

A knock sounded at the door. I quickly slipped the note in the desk drawer and slid it shut. "Yes?" I called. Like I didn't know who that would be.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Sure."

Ben pushed the door open. He suddenly looked older. It startled me a little.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

He shifted a little. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I could do this. Why was it so hard with him right in the room? Probably because really anything I said would be like a lie. I really didn't like lying to him. True story. "I'm feeling a lot better actually." Good enough to hypothetically make it to the bus station and get a ticket to East Longmeadow. I don't even know why I came up with that particular place. I'd never even been there.

"Good." He bit his lip. "You…probably heard all that."

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head, playing dumb. "All what?"

He shook his head but let it go. He knew I'd heard. And he knew I knew he knew. "I just…I want you to know something."

Oh, don't do this to me, Ben. "What?"

"I like having you around. In the span of a few weeks, you've become one of the best friends I've ever had. Which I have to admit is a surprise even to me. Especially in light of how we met." He gave a small teasing smile, and I knew I was supposed to return it, so I did. "I want to make sure we're okay. That you're okay."

"I'm okay, Ben. We're okay." Yeah, Ben. Everything's okay. Wait. I should ask, too. "Are…you okay?"

He leaned against the wall with a tired smirk. "Nah."

At first I thought maybe he'd misunderstood my question. Like maybe he'd thought I'd said "Is something wrong?" Because that's how he'd answered. Like "Nah, it's no big deal." But when I looked at his face, I realized he'd said exactly what he'd meant to. He wasn't really okay. I blinked nervously. "What…what should I do?" I'd never been in this situation before. When someone asks you if you're okay, you're always supposed to answer yes. Right?

He smiled. "I got a deck of cards," he suggested. Then he shrugged. "We could pop in a video?"

I had no idea how that was supposed to fix anything or make anything better for him. But if it's what he wanted…I couldn't stop my eyes from glancing over at the desk, thinking about the note in the drawer. I should… But then if I was leaving tonight, it would be okay to hang out with Ben a little first, right? It was still early. His dad had already gone to bed. I couldn't mess anything else up. And besides, Ben needed the company. This worked. Gotta be flexible. I looked at Ben and pulled a face. "Can we at least watch something that's not in black and white this time?"

He chuckled. "No promises."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

I had to walk past him to get to the door. As I got close, though, he surprised me by tugging me by the wrist into a full on hug. I froze. He's taller than me, so with my head kind of bent a little, it fit right under his chin. He just sort of held on for a second while I tried not to panic. I didn't want this. I didn't really want him touching me at all right then. It was the first time he'd ever really hugged me when one of us wasn't in life-threatening danger, and it just…reminded me too much of…of before. The last person who held onto me like this…didn't make it. "Ben? What…?" My voice came out all high and shocked.

"Nothing, kid." He pulled away, and I realized the hug was for him. Because he needed it. So that was okay, then. It had nothing to do with me. I shouldn't take my issues out on Ben. _Geez. Relax, Riley._ I shook my head, mostly because there was too much going on inside it.

"Um. Okay. So. For Christmas, I vote you get your dad a DVD player."

"I'm not shopping on black Friday."

I looked at him, horrified. "Well, yeah. Geez. We've already established that you value your life."

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

We ended up watching the _Wizard of Oz_, which _is_ mostly in color. Digitally remastered it was not. But hey, I hadn't seen it since I was like six, and it's an all around classic, so…couldn't argue. Somehow we ended up putting together some kind of anthropological study on flying monkey culture. It involved like, perceived social norms and class infrastructures… It was pretty much the most ridiculous anthropological study ever. Ben can be freaking hilarious. People don't know. But he'll have the most serious look on his face and say the most random, crazy stuff.

The movie ended at like quarter till eight, and we played a couple rounds of speed. Ben really sucks at speed. Then we switched to crazy eights because it's a childish, lazy kind of game that no one cares about winning. Before I knew it, it was 8:30. Still early, yeah. But I knew if I wanted to get any kind of decent place for the night, I'd need to go early. I yawned and stretched a little.

"I'm kinda tired."

He shot me a look. "Really?"

"Hey, I ran around. A lot," I defended. "All _you_ had to do was sit tight and wait for your targets to come to you."

"If we ever go again, I'll promote you to sniper."

"If we ever go again, it'll probably help if you don't try calling out tactical maneuvers in ye olde English."

"I knew those kids wouldn't understand it."

"To whom it may concern: I am one of those kids."

"So noted." He grinned and nudged me as he stood up. "Night, buddy."

My smirk disappeared as I followed him upstairs. "Night, Ben."

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

It was a Wednesday night. Lucky thing. Church night. So Hartford, Connecticut's not exactly in the Bible belt, but still. It didn't take a whole lot of walking with my laptop and my couple bags to stumble upon a church. Wednesday nights are best because for most churches that's youth group night, and, especially when there's no school the next day, a lot of youth groups have some sort of something till at least 9:00. I hadn't actually ever been a part of a church group. I know all this for different reasons.

So there was this average-sized little non-denominational church, with the occasional teenager trickling out at half past nine. I slipped right in the front door. The thing to do is act like you belong and like you've been there at least a dozen times. Now, sneaking into a house of worship to save your own hide is not something I'd recommend—especially in light of that whole immortal soul deal. But it was awfully close to winter. And I've got asthma. I figured God would let it slide. Heck, Jesus'd probably understand better than anybody else. His first night He spent in a barn.

Their sanctuary had a balcony. Also ideal. See, the guy who locks up doesn't usually do the most thorough job checking the place over. Usually, he'll holler "Anybody there?" in the bathrooms and the sanctuary when he turns the lights out. I've found it's best not to answer.

I sat down on a pew in the front row behind the sound equipment because the door to the balcony was farther toward the back. It was all wood, no padding, but there was this bench behind the soundboard that had these cushion things like people take to football games for the bleachers. I laid them out so they'd be under my back and my butt and tucked one of my bags under my head. Crossed my feet at the ankles. Not too shabby. It was warm, and I felt safe, and it was all pretty nice.

I was feeling pretty good. Not too much later, I heard the voice. "Anybody up here?"

I tensed up and went real still, and, like the genius I am, made no claims to be present. The lights went off, and I relaxed. Then the lights suddenly went on again. Uh-oh. I heard heavy footsteps coming down toward me. No. That guy couldn't know I was there. I didn't make a sound. So what was he doing? I looked over. The soundboard. Somebody had left the soundboard on. I felt my eyes get huge. Oh, no, no, no, no. There was nowhere I could go. If I stood up, the guy would spot me for sure. I did the only thing I could. I rolled off the edge of the pew, quiet as I could manage, and rolled underneath it. As far as stealth moves go, it was pretty impressive, I gotta say. Or it would've been if there wasn't a squeak in the floor.

The footsteps came to a halt. I froze. No way could I have planned for a squeak in the stupid floor. This is God's house, people. Craftsmanship, anyone?

"Somebody there?" The voice meant business. And if the heaviness in the footsteps were any indication, this guy was not exactly in my weight class. He moved forward again. "Hey. Get up here." I didn't move. Maybe he didn't… "I see you under there. Get up."

I swallowed and managed to bang my head on the underside of that all-wood pew as I shot to my feet as quick as I could. "Ow." I came face to face with an older guy standing at the end of the pew in a sweater and khakis with a bit of a stomach and a look that didn't exactly scream peace be with you. "I…I just…I was going to…" My eyes shot to that accursed soundboard with its evil little green lights. "Let me get that for you." I flicked off the power. That's me. Helpful. Being helpful kind of counteracts at least one count of breaking and entering, right? Though, technically, I'd only entered. And there was a welcome mat in the foyer.

He looked from me to my stuff and then back up at me. Unreadable. Guy probably didn't gamble. But if the deacons played for gum or something, this guy would be a contender. "You need something?"

I couldn't shake my head fast enough. "Nope." If this man called the police, I was done. I'd use my one phone call on Ben, and I didn't even want to think about how that conversation would go. I'd probably do a little lying, a little truth-telling, and a lot of stuttering. I tried to gather up my bags. "I'm just gonna go. It's a lovely church. Um. There's a squeak in the floor. Thank you." Thank you?

"Wait." The guy put up one hand, and I stopped. As I'd already noticed, the guy was wider than me. Not huge. But wider than me. And he sort of had my only exit body-blocked. Unless I wanted to vault some pews. Which I considered doing stitches or no stitches. "What's your name?" he asked.

I peeked over the edge of the balcony and calculated my odds. Fifteen feet, maybe. How high _was _my threshold for pain? Was running on a couple broken legs really _that _unfeasible?

"I really…I…I wasn't gonna take anything, I just…"

"What's your name?" he repeated.

I didn't want to lie in a church. That seemed like too much. So I just asked a stupid question. "Are you with maintenance?" I asked hopefully. Maybe he was the mean old janitor that nobody liked. Or…believed.

"Associate pastor," he answered evenly. Of course. It had to be a pastor. I didn't know exactly what he meant by associate.

"Is that like…second string?"

He looked kind of amazed. I was kind of amazed, too. Seriously. My mouth gets so messed up when I'm nervous. "Okay," he drew out slowly, like that was the only answer he had because he honestly didn't know how to answer such a ridiculous question. He shook his head. "What are you doing here, son?"

"Not stealing," I said quickly. "I swear." _Oh. Don't swear in church!_ "I mean, I promise. Honestly. I was just…just gonna sleep. For a minute or…some minutes. I…I don't know how long exactly." I was just gonna wait until somebody opened the place up again in the morning. I'd seen the alarm keypad, so I knew if I opened the doors the police would probably show, unless I wanted to deactivate it myself. But I didn't know what the rules were on churches and alarms, morally speaking, so I figured I'd just wait it out. Although, tomorrow was Thanksgiving. But still, it was a church. It had to still be open on Thanksgiving, right? "Pro-probably several minutes."

"Calm down," he finally said. "You just about gave me a heart attack."

"I didn't mean to scare you," I said quickly.

"I meant just watching you. You look like you're about to start turning blue."

I tried to take a deep breath. "My heart is beating very fast, sir."

"So I guessed." He pointed at the pew. "Sit down."

"Are you calling the cops?"

"Haven't decided. Sit down."

I looked at the seat. Sit down? Then I glanced real quick back at him. Oh, no. No, no. He was going to talk to me, wasn't he? He was going to sit me down and…pastor me. "Sure you wouldn't rather just call the police?" I ventured. "I…I could be a thief."

He gave a fast, smirky smile, so fast I almost missed it. I was thrown off enough to be a little annoyed. People write me off as harmless so quick all the time. "If you try something, I think I could take you."

I think I almost pouted even as I sank to sit on one of the cushions. "I'm…wiry." And bruised and stitched and asthmatic. Who was I kidding? Gray hair or not, this guy could probably take me to the moon.

He made a sound that was almost a laugh but not quite. "Uh-huh. Got a name yet, slick?"

My knee bounced nervously. "If I tell you anything, are you sworn to secrecy under your preacher vows?"

"This isn't confession," he told me. And he sounded kind of smug. "And I'm not Catholic." Loopholes.

"Riley," I sighed.

"Virgil." Perfect. I was being held hostage by a slightly-overweight, second-string, Protestant minister called Virgil. I doubt anyone's even been named Virgil since, like, before the actual moon landing—if that even really happened. "Why aren't you at home?"

I could lie. I knew I could. I knew I wasn't all that bad at lying. But lying to a minister, even a second-string one, in his own church… So I just tried to explain it gently—without looking at him. "Not everybody has one of those."

"You can afford to buy a laptop, but you have no place to sleep?" He sent a pointed look toward my laptop case. Sharp guy, Virgil.

"I'm just passing through. I go to school at MIT." That was probably a dumb thing to say. How many Rileys could there be at MIT?

"So how does a boy with nowhere to go end up all the way out in Hartford for his Thanksgiving break?" Relentless.

I pressed my lips together. "I…have a friend. Here."

When I said the word friend, the man's eyes narrowed slightly. Like he couldn't think much of this friend of mine who'd let me spend my night seeking sanctuary in his sanctuary. "Uh-huh." He sent a glance over his shoulder for effect. "Where is this friend?"

"He's at home. With his dad." I shrugged. "'s where he should be. Thanksgiving's a family holiday. He was great and everything, but he shouldn't've invited me. His dad…well you don't…you don't know the whole story. It's long and…involved."

"How about a Reader's Digest version?"

"Does it really matter that much to you?" I asked, irritated.

"You'd really rather I called the police?" he asked with his eyebrows up. And yes. That, ladies and gentlemen, is blackmail. How many people get blackmailed by a preacher in their lifetime? Check that one off my list.

I gave a resigned sigh and tried to sort out what was in my head so it'd make some kind of sense. That's not easy to do. "Ben is…the best friend I've ever had, okay? And I like that. I don't really do friendships real well. But for some reason, he just…he tried so hard, even when…even when I wound up getting him killed—hurt." I shook my head quick. "He didn't die. He could've, though. And it would've been my fault, like before. And his dad knows that. So I can't really blame the man. It's not his fault. Really, he's right. I'm just…I'm dangerous. Bad things happen when I'm around. That's why I had to go. If I don't back off and convince Ben to stay away…it's just…something else'll happen."

"Something else like what?"

"My parents both died," I said flatly. "You can call the police if you want. I'm not gonna talk about it."

"All right. That's up to you." He already knew better than to press that. "So this Ben. Your best friend. This rare person in your life who cares about you. You're protecting him."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"From you."

I nodded again. Good. He got it. It was kinda depressing. But he got it.

He was silent for a moment. Then he said all at once, "That's a load of hooey."

My head spun to look at him. He couldn't say that. How could he say that? He didn't even know me. He had a summary of what was going on, and even I know I suck at summaries. But whatever the heck hooey was, this was not a load of it. Last time I share personal feelings with a minister, coerced or otherwise. "How is that…"

"Bad things happen," he said simply. "It's a fallen world. If you think you can protect your friend from the horrors that go along with that, you have some kinduva high impression of yourself. In this world, people die. All people. The death ratio is, as a general rule, one to one. You, me, him. We'll all have our time. 'Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?'"

I shook my head. "But…how can you be so casual about that?"

"Because I know that this life isn't all there is—thank God. I'm getting old. You have no idea how nice it is to be sure of your eternal salvation about the time you throw your back out for the fourth time." I raised my eyebrows. Guy had back problems. Maybe I _could_ take him. "It's Thanksgiving. A time for realizing what we been given. Best place to start is realizing the gift Jesus gave us when he made a way for us sinners to have the hope of a future after we're done here. It's a gift way too many people overlook."

I was quiet for a minute. "So…you're saying, even if I do get him killed, that's just…okay?" That could never be okay.

"No. I'm saying he'll die just fine on his own without losing his best friend. And so will you, and keep on this ridiculous trail you're on and all you'll have really done was miss out on all the good times and the memories that make the here and now _fun_." He leaned toward me a little and looked me right in the eye. "Just because you get hit on the head with an apple, Chicken Little, it don't mean your sky is falling."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That's not a Bible story."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "It's a nursery rhyme. I'm meeting you where you are."

I smiled a little. The way he said things…they made sense, sort of. A funny, weird kind of sense. Like, if Einstein had said, 'e equals mc squared—duh.' My logic—maybe did seemed kind of…hooeyish now. Now that I'd voiced my fears and heard them for what they were. It didn't make the past better. But it made the present seem…really really important. I glanced at him. "You know, they should probably promote you to first string."

He waved the thought away. "I like where I am. I preach every other Sunday night and turn out the lights. And I talk to people."

"Oh. So that's what an associate pastor does."

"I _associate_ with folks."

"I get it." I looked sideways at him. "Am I allowed to go?"

"That depends. Are you really going? I'm not gonna find you sleeping on the couch in my office, am I?"

_They give you an office to talk to people and turn out the lights? _I didn't say it. I do occasionally have some control. I nodded. "I really am." I had a friend. A good friend. It was important. And I almost messed it up.

"Need a ride, Chicken Little?" He'd have given me one. I got the feeling he was the say-what-I-mean, mean-what-I-say type. But I shook my head and stood up.

"Ben's house isn't that far." They'd never know I'd left. And that was good. Nothing there would be different. Patrick Henry Gates would still hate my guts. But I could deal with that. I could try to help Ben deal with it, too. Ben chose me as a friend. He didn't have to. He just did. I could feel guilty about it or deny it or just enjoy it. Why didn't the last one make sense till just now?

Virgil didn't let it go. "It's pretty chilly out," he warned.

"So you think by worrying you can add a single hour to my life?" If he could get snarky, so could I.

"You know, in some translations, it says, 'Who by worrying can add a single cubit to his height?'" He looked me up and down. "This worrying thing must be kinda chronic with you, huh?" He gave a lop-sided smile. I glared at him. He just used Scripture to call me short. Guy was good.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to associate for a living, you're really not good at playing nice with others."

"I apologize from the bottom of my wretched old heart." He winked at me. "Be careful out there, Riley."

"Thank you." I gathered my stuff and walked to the door. Then I turned back and winced. "And also thank you for not calling the police."

He shooed me away with one hand. "Happy Thanksgiving, criminal."

"Happy Thanksgiving."

* * *

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

* * *

It wasn't that long a walk back toward Ben's dad's. I hummed a little. I play the bass guitar. My musical talent ends there, by the way. The sidewalk was dark, save for the occasional streetlamp. The first raindrop I felt hit me right on the nose. I looked up at the sky. Why do people do that? And I caught another in the eye. Great.

They started falling at a light sprinkle, and I pulled my—well, Ben's—coat closer as best I could, laden down as I was with my stuff. It was a little after ten, so it wasn't like the world was asleep yet. But the street I was on held mostly shops and stuff that were all shut up for the night, though I could see the glow from houses in the neighborhood a few blocks away.

It took awhile for me to figure out where the shouting was coming from. Under a street light a few hundred yards down the street, I saw these couple kids, maybe nine or ten—I can never tell how old kids are—and they were yelling and crying. It kind of made me go on alert. I'd seen people use kids to lure in good Samaritan types. The only thing of any value I had on me was my laptop, but seriously. I'd guard that with my life. But it's not like I couldn't not go see what was going on. Not after I'd just met a guy like Virgil, who really probably should've called the cops on me.

I jogged over. Before I got all the way there, I called out so they'd know I was coming. "Hey! You guys okay?" Two boys, clutching at flashlights. A black kid and a redhead. Crying. Not like regular hurt crying. This was _scared _crying. I knew the difference. "What happened?"

The redhead just shook his head, and then the black kid, hiccupping and sobbing a little, told me. "My brother," he took a heaving breath, "Tyler. He's caught. You gotta help us. We couldn't move it. He's stuck."

"Hang on, hang on. Where is he?"

He pointed behind him, and my breath hitched in my lungs, and I made a kind of hiccupping sound that was sort of close to his. The manhole cover was pulled up. The kid was pointing down at the sewer. The rain was starting to pick up. The freezing cold rain that wouldn't take long to fill up those tunnels. I set my bags down by the open manhole cover, even my computer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he sobbed, angry mostly because he was terrified.

"Which way down the tunnel?" I demanded. I was so not cut out for this. Why wasn't there anyone else around? What the heck were these kids doing?

He pointed down the street in the direction I'd come. "Part of the wall down there…broke. He's screaming so loud. We couldn't move it." Something collapsed down there? At least I knew the kid was still alive. But with the rain getting stronger, there couldn't be that much time. My worry must've shown on my face or something, because he was still sobbing and trying to explain, "We were just gonna play like we were ninja turtles, and…" he cut off. Of all the stupid, dangerous… Not to mention, there were only three of them, and there were four ninja turtles. Somehow I just got elected to play the fourth. What'd that make me? Michelangelo?

I took the flashlight from the redhead and looked at both of them. "I need you to go get me some help. Okay? Run. Run and find help."

"You gotta help him…"

"I'm gonna help him. But you need to run. Find somebody with a phone, and call 911. Okay?"

Both boys nodded through tears and took off. I looked down at the hole. Down in the dark. I shakily turned on the flashlight. It looked…looked a lot like a basement down there. With its echoing walls. Echoing the sounds of rushing water. I took a step back, shaking my head dizzily. _I can't do this._ I looked around, hoping a hero would pop out of nowhere. That's what heroes are supposed to do, right? They're supposed to show up in the nick of time. There wasn't anybody around. Just me. And I was so scared I could hardly move. But I couldn't just do nothing. Not this time. No. Gritting my teeth, I tucked the flashlight under my chin and stepped down onto the first rung. With shaking knees, I went lower, until the darkness completely swallowed me up.

* * *

A/N: Is that a cliffhanger ending? Oi. I hate those. Truly. Why would I do that? I really tried not to, honestly, but it just sort of happened. I do know what's going to happen next. And I'm excited to write it. So my next update is kind of at the mercy of my life. It's now...2:12 in the a.m. It may take a few of these kinds of nights. Yeesh.


	15. Chapter 15

_Ben_

"No!" I jerked awake so quickly, it took a moment for my mind to get a handle on reality. There are a lot of people who don't know what that's like, I bet. Good for them. Because those are some of the worst moments I remember, waking up that way with my heart hammering in my chest and my mind being pulled in two different directions. It's almost worse than the nightmare itself. Because upon waking, there's part of the mind that knows it wasn't real, but there's this deeper, persistent…_fear_ that once the world rights itself, instead of finding things as they should be, I might find that the lies in my dreams are the truth and the truth that I know is the lie. It's very confusing, very disorienting, and would've been unbearable if it lasted any longer than a moment.

I flopped my head back onto my pillow, rubbing the back of my arm across my sweaty brow, and I closed my eyes, waiting impatiently for my heartbeat to slow a little. I hadn't dreamed at all the night before, so I'd optimistically thought I was done with them. Most of the time I like being an optimist. Occasionally it's a little disappointing.

I shivered slightly, probably from a combination of the cold night and the adrenaline leaking from my body. I got up, telling myself I was just going to adjust the thermostat. My dad hated it when I did that, which I didn't mind at all. Apparently I can be a little vindictive when I'm frightened, angry, and depressed. I slipped my robe on, noticing as I tied it my hands were not as steady as I would have preferred. I also noticed that it really had gotten chilly in the house.

The thermostat was, of course, downstairs. In order to reach the stairs, I had to walk down the hall. And it would've been impossible to walk down the hall without passing by the guest room. Riley's room. I shuddered.

Sometimes when I dream, it's not in color. I'm not sure if that's unusual. Maybe it's because I grew up watching black and white videos with my dad. I've never had any interest in the science—if that's what it is—of dreams, so I'm not really qualified to give an account for what my subconscious does while I'm asleep. In any case, that nightmare I'd just had, the one that just left me breathless and paranoid and trembling like a child, it had contained a lot of blacks and grays. But there was red in it, too. And even if I'd wanted to walk by that kid's room without stopping to make sure everything that was supposed to be inside his body was _still_ inside his body, well, that was too bad. I didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter.

My hand was on the doorknob almost before I even realized what I was doing. And even after I realized what I was doing, I did nothing to try to stop it. Riley may have broken our deal, but I wasn't about to.

_Sorry to ruin your sleep, buddy. _But I figured hot chocolate would make up for it. I opened the door quietly. The last time I'd come in to check on him, even that much noise was enough to wake him up. He's a jumpy sleeper.

"Riley," I said softly. "It's me." I almost had the believable excuse I knew he wouldn't believe fully formed in my mind, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized his bed was still made up. My recently-slowed heart started beating all the faster. "Riley?" I flicked on the light, blinking furiously as my eyes protested the sudden brightness. I scanned the floor, over to the closet. Nothing. _He's not here._

I immediately turned, stumbling out and down the stairs, flicking on lights as I went. Coming down off that nightmare, every kind of irrational fear about what could've happened to that kid buzzed through my head until I could practically hear his screams. He wasn't in the living room. Or the kitchen. "Riley?" I checked the porch. I checked the study. "Riley, answer me right now." I was checking closets by then. That kid was gone.

My dad came shuffling in then, belting his robe, squinting through his glasses. "What's going on?"

I held up a hand to make him quiet, unwilling to deal with him right then. I jogged up the stairs, back to Riley's room, begging my mind to get out of panic mode and go into solving mode. I wanted to make a career out of finding things. I could find this kid. He was fine. There was an explanation. There was always an explanation. I stopped in the doorway of the empty room. It was too empty, wasn't it? I stopped. It was too empty.

"His things are gone," I said quietly. Not to anyone in particular. My dad hadn't even caught up with me yet. I stepped into the room. Riley's bags were gone. His shoes and the coat I'd given him were gone. _You didn't, Riley. Tell me you didn't. _He'd run off, hadn't he? Would he do that? He didn't even have a place to go. Would he still leave? I thought back on everything I knew about Riley. Keeping his mouth shut about his roommate, convinced he could wait it out on his own. Trying to help out at the food drive, ashamed someone might think he was a freeloader. Refusing to tell anyone when he hurt. Hiding his fears. Certain that he was a burden. This kid who was all too eager to keep everyone else comfortable. This kid all too determined to stay out from underfoot. Would he leave? I sighed. _Stupid question._ "I'm going to kill him."

As they surveyed the room, my eyes finally caught on the sheet of paper sitting atop the desk. I picked it up. A clue. I scanned the lines of hastily-scrawled script, eyes widening slightly. After reading it for the third or fourth time, I heard my father's confused voice in the doorway behind me.

"Where's the boy?"

"He left," I answered hollowly.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Oh, for heaven's sake…" My father is a smart man. He got it. If it had been anyone else, I would've been outraged by the seemingly careless tone. But Patrick Gates…that's how he sounds when he's starting to feel a little guilty. He gets very annoyed when he feels guilty. "Why would he do that?" he demanded softly.

I'm a historian. Real historians are scientists. They make hypotheses based on facts and then find every available piece of data they can to prove or disprove those hypotheses. Me, I take that a step further. That makes me an applied scientist. Treasure hunters don't merely study facts to build an accurate picture of times past. Treasure hunters have to gather clues and make connections and leaps of logic that no one else has ever made. Treasure hunters have to be historians and psychologists and sociologists and anthropologists and archeologists all rolled into one. As a whole, we don't do well with coincidences. Coincidences can't be tracked or predicted. And the fact that this note was a result of a foster mother from a happy home Riley had never spoken of, and she'd e-mailed him the same night my father exploded…it was too much of a coincidence for me.

Not to mention, it was barely half past ten. Riley must've left minutes after my bedroom door had closed. He'd planned this. Except that I wasn't supposed to read this note until morning. "Why do you suppose he would?" I asked evenly, turning to face my dad.

He shook his head, removing his glasses to clean them. "Fool," he muttered.

I tread around him and out into the hallway, speaking over my shoulder. "I'm going to go find him."

He stayed right behind me. "How?"

"Don't worry about how. Just believe that I will."

"Is that a note in your hand?"

I nodded. "Yes. It is."

"And?"

"It's a lie. He lied. He does that sometimes. Usually when he thinks he's protecting me from something."

"Are you sure he's not just protecting himself?"

I entered my room and abandoned the robe, pulling on a pair of jeans in its place. "I'm pretty sure at the moment, he thinks he's protecting both me and you."

He bit off something he'd wanted to say and shook his head, looking off away from me. When he looked back, he asked, "What would he be protecting us from?"

I slipped on one shoe and then the other. "Isn't it obvious?" I said as I stood and shouldered past. "Each other."

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

I splashed down on the concrete floor of the tunnel with the sound of the rain all around me. I was standing in maybe a couple inches of water that kept coming in from the street above my head and running off in the opposite direction I needed to go. I shuddered _deep_. Then, gripping the flashlight like it was a lifeline—which it pretty much was, considering if I lost it, I'd be so done—I started walking toward where they said that kid was supposed to be. "Tyler?" I called, mostly just to hear a voice. My voice bounced off the walls but couldn't overtake the sound of the water. "Tyler! Can you hear me?"

Then from down the tunnel, over the roar, I heard him screaming for somebody to help him. I started moving faster, keeping my elbows tucked in tight, my heart pounding. I don't like being underground in the dark. Getting shut inside the trunk of a car is less scary to me than being underground in the dark. I'm also not a fan of water. Water kills people. My breath started to catch.

"Help me, please! Somebody! Trey! Help!" The sound of him screaming through his sobs brought me back a little. _Come on, Riley. Stop it. _I could help this kid. I could. I could do something. I worked my inhaler out of my pocket and took a puff.

"Keep yelling, Tyler! Okay? Can you hear me? I'm coming!" I'm not sure if he heard me or not, but he kept on shouting and pleading for someone to save him. He sounded hurt. Hopefully it wasn't so bad. At least he could still scream. I listened to him shouting. It's hard down in sewers. Sound echoes off everything so that it sounds like it's coming from every direction. Ironically, it's the water that helped some, I think, absorbing some of the sound or whatever. That, and I hear pretty good through walls. I had to make some decisions, take a few turns, but finally, I came up on a light.

It lay in a puddle of unmoving water, and my light caught a flash of red jacket in the darkness. I tracked upward with my light to take in the damage. And almost dropped it.

"Oh," I said dumbly. And, I mean, I was scared before. But that moment right there, that was the moment where it occurred to me in some weird, calm place I didn't know was in me, that it was very possible I could die down there. "Huh. This is kind of a problem, isn't it."

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Patrick_

Ben had nearly worked himself into a panic. And it occurred to me that I really wanted all of those fears to be unfounded. But my son is not a man who acts on unfounded fears. And the fact that I knew this about him made his panic all the more contagious. Even if I refused to let it show, just watching him throwing himself together and tying his shoes with shaking hands caused a sense of…urgency I suppose, to begin tugging at me inside my chest.

"Wait," I told him as he gathered blankets from the closet. He rounded on me with a look that clearly said _How dare you?_ and shoved the blankets into the nylon holdall he'd brought with him. I was reminded—mercilessly—of that girl's words at the paintball arena. The mistake she'd made. Her wild and baseless assumption. In the face of Ben's anger and worry and determination in that moment—and the _fear_ that wove beneath all of it—her error seemed less unforgiveable. "Wait for me."

_No_, had already begun to form on his lips, but he stopped himself. Faltered a moment. And I think, even if my company was unwelcome, there was part of him that still saw me as his father. The man he'd grown up imitating. Part of him still believed the fairy tale that I could solve any problem he brought to me because I was his dad, and dads are supposed to be superheroes. He was taller than I was. Stronger. But I was his father, and that meant I could help him when he needed help. "Hurry," was all he said. And I suppose it was possible that it was I who still believed in fairy tales and he simply thought an extra pair of eyes wouldn't hurt.

I retreated down the hall to get dressed. I didn't say any words to him about how, in all likelihood, the boy was fine. That there was no cause to worry. It would have done no good. As little sense as it made to me, I recognized the look in his eyes. Even if it didn't sit well with me, I recognized the look in his eyes. His fear was the same kind that left me weak and winded every time I got a call from a hospital or a salvage team. _Your son's been in an accident…_ Or _There was a cave-in. We got separated…_ Or _The structural integrity of the hull was weaker than we originally…_

When I hunted treasure, I got headaches from spending too many hours hunched over books. When Ben hunted treasure, he got concussions from things falling on his head. And even when those voices on the line would rush to assure me _He's going to be fine,_ my mind would immediately and unhelpfully tack on the words _this time._ And thus I would resign myself to waiting for when _next time_ would inevitably arrive. It aged me. Every time. And it was some of that aging fear I'd seen in my thirty-two-year-old son.

The boy. The stupid, childish boy who'd been foolish enough to run off without telling a soul. And maybe that was partly my fault. But that that boy could scare my son the way my son scared me…there was something significant about that. Something that made me reevaluate my dislike of him. I like to think I'm a good judge of people. And that the boy was hiding something I still had no doubt. I could see the secrets he hid every time I looked at him, and I could see his fear that someone would find them out. My position on that hadn't changed. But every time I'd looked at him, I'd asked him wordlessly to leave. And he had. What changed was that I realized that wasn't what I wanted.

When I'd dressed in a flannel button-up and corduroy pants, I pulled my coat from the closet and met Ben in the kitchen. He had a high beam flashlight in one hand and his holdall in the other. There was a note on the counter. Ben's writing. _We're out looking for you. Call me, _and his cell number. _Call me_, had been underlined twice.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We look for him. I don't think he would've had much of a head start. I'd imagine he'd start heading in the direction of the school. I know…two people he could've called." He sighed. "But I doubt he _would've_ called either one of them."

"Do you think he would've gotten a bus ticket? Called a cab?"

"I suppose the bus station should be the first place we look." He said it like he didn't really believe we'd find him there.

"There shouldn't be too many people there this time of night. If he's been there it shouldn't be difficult to find someone who'd have seen him." It was a small piece of encouragement. He nodded his appreciation.

I followed him out to the garage and slid into the passenger seat of his car as he placed his bag in the backseat and then got behind the wheel. He pulled out, and rain battered the windshield. "Keep your eyes on the sidewalks," he told me.

"Surely he wouldn't be out walking around in this." The boy hadn't even recovered fully from his injuries. He had asthma. Ben had mentioned he was just getting over a bout of pneumonia. _Surely_ he wouldn't…

Ben pressed his lips together as he switched the wipers to a higher speed. I caught his uneasiness. "It's really starting to come down out there," he said quietly.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

Water builds up fast in the sewers when it rains. Scary fast. And water is very, very heavy.

"Tyler!" The kid blinked at me, the light from my flashlight reflecting back at me from his eyes as full of tears as they could be. He yelled a little—just a small, hysterical sound that was relief because someone was there with him and fear because he didn't know who I was. "Hang on, buddy. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Just give me a moment to…assess." Man, my voice sounded weird. _This is bad._ I'd tried to keep the fear out of my voice so Tyler would stay calm, but that was stupid. This kid—he was maybe eight—he already knew it was bad.

The tunnel had collapsed on one side, concrete and rebar and general debris piled up to chest level. It was damming up the sewer, stopping all that water that was flowing downhill toward me. Dams are supposed to be a whole lot stronger than a pile of broken concrete. This thing was going to break. Soon. Water was already flowing through the chinks, loosening the debris, taking smaller chunks with it. There was a lot of water on the other side of that wall already. This was bad. Water is stronger than people.

"Who are you?" the kid asked through his teeth. He was on the ground, curled around his arm. An arm trapped under the rubble. Trapped under rubble that would unleash a wall of water if I moved it.

"Um. My name's Riley. Hello. Your brother told me you were stuck." I knelt down next to him, tried to get a read on the damage. Felt my stitches pull a little. Dang. Wasn't supposed to get those wet.

"Trey," he whimpered his brother's name. The kid shook all over with cold and pain. That arm was broken. There was blood. Worst thing about it was that was the least of his problems. "Are you," he panted, "a firefighter? Or a cop or somethin'?"

Wow. Me? Really? It was dark. But I wondered if he had a head injury or something, too. Honestly, I was impressed he was still conscious. If he'd passed out, he'd be dead. "No." I wasn't about to tell him his would-be rescuer was actually a computer geek with a track record of being useless during emergencies. "But…my dad was an EMT."

"What's that?"

"Somebody who saves people."

"And he taught you?"

The irony of where I was hit hard. I smiled grimly. "Yeah. He taught me." I couldn't compare this to that. I'd be worthless if I did. "You ready to get out of here, big guy?" He nodded, eyes wide even with the lines of pain around them. "Okay. When I move this, you have to get your arm out. Okay? It's going to hurt. But you gotta do it anyway, as fast as you can because you're strong, and the sooner you get your arm out, the sooner we can get back up to the street. Okay?"

He nodded, biting his lip hard.

"That's right, pal. And as soon as your arm's free, we're going to have to move fast, and I want you to grab onto me with your good hand and not let go, okay?"

He nodded faster.

"Good." The roar of the water was deafening, and on my knees like I was, the water had already risen to mid-thigh level, swirling around and rushing down to the opposite end of the tunnel to join the rapids that were the main drag. It'd washed away the kid's abandoned flashlight. Tyler had to tilt his chin up a little to keep it above the water. His arm was pinned between two pieces of concrete, and I had to move one of them while disturbing the rest of the haphazard structure as little as possible. I set my light up on the "dam" and grabbed a piece of rebar, jamming it in the crack above his arm. Then I stood, straddling it, my back to the wall of crumbled concrete. If this worked too well, if I moved too much… _Dear Lord, please let it hold. _"Okay!" I yelled. "You ready?"

"Yeah!"

I groaned and he screamed as I pried the space open. It was hard. Those hunks of debris were heavy, and the water pressure had sort of packed them together—funny how that was working both for and against us. But the second he was free, I grabbed my flashlight in one hand and wrapped my other arm around his chest, heaving him up on his feet while he was still screaming, and it sounded hoarser than before. "Come on!"

He grabbed onto me like I'd told him, his chest heaving with sobs as we ran, the both of us nearly slipping a couple times as the swirling water tried to wash our feet out from under us. Water doesn't have to be deep if it's moving fast enough. We were running out of time. The moment my light caught on the rungs of a ladder, I almost cried. "Yes! Come on, buddy. Right over here. We got this!"

I got Tyler there and boosted him up, and he scrambled up there with his one good arm like the trooper he was, and I followed after. The ladder led to a manhole cover. Sweet, blessed manhole cover. I got up beside him on the ladder, and he pulled his hurt arm into his chest and wrapped the other around my neck, just shaking with fear and only crying a little. Hadn't expected that. I adjusted so I could wrap one arm around him, kinda awkward with the flashlight in my hand. With the other I clung tight to the top rung. _We made it. We're good. _Then I moved upward, ducking my head and pushing my shoulders against the manhole cover. It was supposed to come up.

I shoved hard, feeling my bones press against the solid, unforgiving iron until I could feel bruises rising on my back. Nothing happened. I put my legs into it, pushing against the ladder as the water rose beneath us, dark and loud and scornful. The cover was stuck. It wouldn't budge. "Argh! _Really_?" Couldn't go down the way we came. Water had gotten too high. Current would beat us.

My fingers were starting to get pretty numb. There was a little kid bleeding on my chest. I couldn't even reach my inhaler. And, oh yeah, when that dam broke and all that water came surging down toward me, I'd probably die of blunt force trauma before I even got a chance to drown.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Ben_

Rain pounded the windshield, making it difficult to see, reflecting the lights of the few cars around me, and all I could really think about was Riley out there in it. Or where Riley would have gone to take refuge from it. That kid had no concept of his own safety, and I was furious and so, so sorry. The traffic around us had slowed to a crawl; there was a lane closed ahead, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles ahead signaling an accident or some such. I was in no state of mind to worry about anyone else's problems at the moment.

"_Ben_," my dad said, his hand shooting toward me out of habit to keep me from going forward as I braked hard, causing the car to bounce to a stop at the last second, far too close to the station wagon in front of me. There was a pause as Dad reclaimed his hand. "I'm watching the sidewalks," he told me. "Take it easy now and watch the road. It'll do no one any good if we wind up in the hospital tonight." Even though he was scolding me, there wasn't any harshness in his tone. Just a lot of worry.

"What are you really worried about?" I asked. And I'd been drained of my own harshness, too.

He gave an uncharacteristically one-worded answer. "You."

I kept my eyes on the road, which was convenient. "You don't have to be."

I heard a small snort, if that's what it was, but his reply held no humor. "If only."

I knew my dad loved me. I couldn't have doubted that. Even if I'd intentionally made the decision to believe he didn't care about me—and it would've had to be intentional—I couldn't have pulled it off for a second. He and I really were very much the same. Like I'd told Riley. Just opposite.

Right then, though, I didn't want his worry to be for me. I was fine. Safe and sitting right next to him. "He's just a little kid, you know?" I said quietly. "In a lot of ways. And he doesn't know it. Makes it worse."

"Really. I've said much the same about you."

"Me?"

"Mmhm. Frequently."

I smiled without really feeling it. "Really? Because I've never said anything like that about you."

"But you've thought it."

"Frequently." A smile he didn't think I'd see reflected off the glass. "Dad."

"Ben."

That was how we did apologies. Without apologizing. Without either one of us admitting to being wrong. He didn't believe he'd been wrong. Represented his argument the wrong way, maybe, but not wrong. And I didn't believe I'd been wrong. Disrespectful, maybe, but not wrong.

Those non-apologies were usually enough for me. Not this time. I needed him to understand. "I wanted to give him a family this week. He doesn't think he needs that. I just wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted you to help me."

He sighed. "Ben." _I never wanted to be the villain here._

I gripped the steering wheel hard. "Nobody wants him. And he thinks that's okay. That people are justified in how they treat him. Like he deserves it, and he _doesn't_. I'm just so sick of people buying into the assumption that he's not worth anything. He does that well enough on his own, and I didn't think I'd have to endure that with you."

He didn't say anything at all.

I adjusted the rearview mirror in my frustration and peered out the windshield as we got closer to the emergency vehicles. I didn't see any remnants of a collision. "What is going on?" I murmured to no one as we passed. They had cones and lines set up and rescue workers surrounding an open manhole cover. I felt a nudge in the pit of my stomach. A woman and a young boy stood by, gripping the perimeter with anxious, hopeless faces, and they were obviously crying even if the rain masked their tears, and it was all so real that my heart immediately went out.

"Ben, pull the car over."

I looked over at my father, but he didn't even give me time to form the question.

"Now. Pull the car over _now._" My dad has this tone of voice he rarely uses. I'm not even sure he's aware of it. But when I hear that tone from him, I obey automatically—no thought process involved at all. It's as if on cue he can speak directly and exclusively to that part of me that trusts him completely.

I jerked the steering wheel, and there were horns honking around us as I swerved onto the shoulder. It took me one second to process my thoughts and spit out the question a saner person would've asked _before_ pulling over. "What? What's wrong?"

He had his face turned away from me, looking out the window toward the emergency scene. I couldn't tell what had caught his attention. Without answering, without even looking at me, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"Dad…"

And out he went. Into the rain.

"Dad," I called. "Hey." And suddenly I was a follower. I hurried around the car. "What are you doing?"

He held up a hand and kept moving toward the scene, and all I could do was stay with him, shivering as the rain soaked me. He walked all the way up to the perimeter the emergency teams had set up, stood right next to the crying woman.

"What happened?" he asked her, and I knew he already had an idea.

She looked at him. I saw her eyes as she gathered her strength to answer. She was broken. Grief had already gathered in her eyes, weighted them. The shock that dulled her face somehow couldn't cover her pain. "My son," she said over the rain, and her voice sounded husky. Like she'd been screaming. She pointed to the opening in the ground. New tears formed in her eyes.

Oh. If her son was down there… With the rain coming down like it was… I felt for her. How could I not? Everyone there knew her son was dead. There really wasn't anything anyone could do.

"A guy went after him," the kid next to her said, his voice trembling, trying to find some hope. "He…he told me to get help…"

"There's another man down there?" Dad cut in.

The boy nodded. "He said he'd help him. He _said_."

And my dad looked sick. He looked at me for a split second. And something in his expression made me feel sick, too. "Ben."

He was looking away, toward the emergency teams, all those people bustling around and really doing nothing because what could they do? I followed his gaze. Saw what he'd seen. And my heart quit.

On the ground near the manhole, looking like they'd been kicked out of the way, lay three bags. A green and yellow backpack. A plaid duffel. A black computer case. Three bags. Three mismatched, horrifyingly familiar bags sat by that uncovered manhole. "No," I whispered. It couldn't really be. There was just no way. There were things that were impossible, and that had to be one of them, or it…I couldn't…

I felt myself moving, and a moment later, the barricade was behind me, and there were people trying to make me stop, and someone was shouting Riley's name, and, oh, it was me.

"Sir! Sir, you're going to need to move back behind that line…"

"My kid's down there!" That made them quiet for just a moment. And I looked down that hole in the ground, and all I could think about was a kid who was afraid of dark basements, and all I could see was water. I froze. _No._ Hands caught my shoulders, tried to push me back, but I went to those bags, and I went to my knees. I pulled the computer case toward me. There was a tag on it. I flipped the tag over. The words blurred in front of my eyes.

_This case and everything in it belongs to Riley Poole. If you find it and don't return it, I will not hesitate to reap vengeance upon your household, down to the third and fourth generations._

Suddenly there was a woman in uniform kneeling in front of me, trying to talk to me. I couldn't hear her.

I jerked away, turning around and covering my eyes, feeling them start to burn. _God, no. Please._ Riley Poole, that eighteen-year-old kid, my best friend, little brother…his life could not end like that. Not down there. Not alone.

I turned back to face the woman, my jaw clenched so hard it must've hurt, but I didn't feel it. Let the rain act as camouflage. I stood, the laptop case gripped in my hand. She rose with me. "My name is Benjamin Gates. I've got formal dive and salvage training from the United States Navy. Tell me what's happening and what I can do." It wasn't too late. Not for Riley.

Her lips thinned, and she looked away for a moment before she could look at me again, far too much sympathy in her gaze. She'd given her answer with her face before she ever spoke a word. Something in me went still. I noticed she had a patch on her shirt with her last name. Lewis. Like Lewis and Clark. Meriwether Lewis, born August 18, 1774, Albemarle County, Virginia.

"I'm afraid, at this point, Mr. Gates…"

Served in the U.S. Army as a lieutenant before becoming an aide to President Thomas Jefferson. Later to be chosen by President Jefferson to lead the expedition…

"…that we're trying to figure out where they'll be…where they'll come out. I…"

He was a Freemason. Became governor of…

"…I'm very sorry."

…of the whole of the Louisiana Territory.

"What is your son's name, Mr. Gates?"

He died. November…no. October. October 11. 1809.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking up at her, and I couldn't understand my confusion. "What was the question?"

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

"We-we're gonna…die!" If the kid was hysterical, that was a little bit okay. Heck, it was past due really. Because I wasn't sure he'd be wrong.

"We're not gonna die," I said. And I don't know where I got the nerve to tell him that. He was still clinging to me. I couldn't see his bad arm, but I knew it was pretty mangled. Like our chances of survival. "Hey, which turtle are you?" I asked, trying to distract him. _Come on, Riley. Plan._ I wanted Ben there. Ben never lost control. I had to think like Ben.

"Wh-what?"

"When you were playing with…Trey? Which ninja turtle were you?" I felt along the edges of the manhole cover, trying to find something wedged in there, or whatever it was that kept the stupid thing from letting us go.

"Michelangelo."

It was no good. Thing would not move. Plan B. Gotta be a Plan B. I looked over. The drain made for an opening a little taller than a street curb. It was to the right of the ladder. It'd take some maneuvering. I wasn't even sure it'd work at all. Didn't have a whole lot of other options. "Cool. Is he your favorite?"

"No. I…_ah_," he hissed but kept going, "I wanted to be Raphael. But Trey said that Connor…" He trailed off and squeaked as his arm got jostled a little.

"All right. Listen, chief. You gotta be Raphael for me right now, okay?"

"He's the strongest," he recited immediately.

"That's right. You gotta be the strongest. And I'm gonna be Leo. Because he's the leader, right?"

He nodded, very solemn.

"Good call. Okay. So here's what I want you to do. See that opening right there? We gotta squeeze you through that."

He shook his head quick. "I can't."

"You can. You're Raph. You're tough, right?"

"It _hurts_!" he cried.

"I know, buddy. I know it hurts. But you gotta be Raph. You gotta be stronger than the pain. Then you can go up there and see your brother, and it won't hurt so much anymore."

"What about you?"

I couldn't fit through there. No way. I doubted I could get the little guy through without hurting him some. But being hurt some was better than being dead some. "I'm gonna wait here. You just…just tell somebody where I am, okay? Let 'em know where I'm stuck. Send them for me, okay, tough guy?"

He buried his face in my collar bone. "No," he whimpered, and it was a defeated sound.

"It's okay, Tyler."

He squeezed with the hand that was gripping the back of my shirt and took a deep, determined breath. "My name's Raphael," he said lowly. It surprised me I could still smile.

"All right Raphie boy. Let's hit it."

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Patrick_

There are things a father never wants to endure. The agony of seeing his child in pain—that would have to be the second thing on that list. Right then, my son looked…devastated—in every sense of the word. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he didn't move.

"Riley. His name is Riley," I said, partly in answer to the woman's question. Partly because I needed to say it, to myself and to Ben. That I knew his friend, that I knew his name. That I saw him as a person. And that her assumption that he was part of Ben's family was not incorrect.

Ben looked at me. My son is a good man. A strong man. Strong men rarely react well when they're told there is nothing to be done for someone they love. That it's over. "I should've been there," he whispered.

Guilt, hard and painful swelled in my stomach. Ben was wrong. He shouldn't have been there at all. Because the boy should never have been there. If I hadn't…if I'd been a better man, that boy—Riley—he never would've been on this street to begin with, would he? The weight of what that meant settled on me, and I felt wretched, and I knew I couldn't be the same because a boy was dead because of me. "I'm sorry."

Perhaps Ben hadn't yet realized it was all my fault. Because he hugged me. And he cried because he'd known Riley. And I cried also. Because I hadn't.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

It took some serious doing. Not like we had the best angle to work from. And, oh yeah, he'd crushed the heck out of his arm. But I shoved him through that drain. And even with his littleness, he'd probably scraped his chest and back a bit. He laid there a second, moaning and trembling.

"You're there!" I breathed, starting to wheeze a little, and I clutched at my burning chest. "You did it! You're there, buddy! You're okay. You're okay."

He sniffled, reaching in, and touching my outstretched fingers. "I'm gonna…help…you, Leo," he said, too exhausted to put more than a couple words together without stopping to breathe. I loved that kid right then. "Which…way?"

"Follow the sidewalk. Go that way; follow the sidewalk back to where you went in. Okay? Here," I handed him my flashlight. "Put this on the top there so they'll know where to find me. And you just go get warm and don't worry about anything."

"'kay."

"Go find your brother. You're safe. Just find your brother."

He nodded and somehow managed to stand up. Then he was gone. I couldn't even hear his footsteps because of the rain and the echoing water. I leaned my head on the rung of the ladder. He was safe. He got out. I did it. I took a breath. I did it.

It was hard to breathe all the sudden. My chest felt tight with fear and cold, but I was scared if I tried to get my inhaler out I wouldn't be able to hold onto it. I was alone. And it was very dark. I looked down and couldn't see how far away the water was.

At least I got Tyler out. That was the important part. He'd be safe, and I felt good about that. Felt really good. But that good feeling did surprisingly little to make me less paralyzed with fear. With the dark and the walls and the noise, and nobody else to tell me it was okay, nobody else to convince it'd be okay except myself, I felt alone. The kind of alone that...echoes. I wondered if my dad had had time to feel alone like this before…

I shook my head quick. _No. No, don't think about that. Ever._ Tears came to my eyes. I wouldn't give up. I wouldn't. I had to make it. Ben. Ben was my best friend, and if I died down there like that, the last thing I ever would've said to him would be a lie, and I couldn't let that stand.

But then the world, as it so often does, chose that moment to mock me. Mercilessly. A sound like a gunshot echoed from down the tunnel, and there was a roar. Not like, the "ocean roar" relaxation sounds they play in the lobbies of dentists' offices. This roar was sick. Deafening. Deadly.

That flimsy little makeshift dam had finally broken. Like I'd known it would. Amazing how things you already know can still terrify you.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Ben_

I really didn't believe it could be true. Which didn't make any sense because I couldn't stop…weeping. Riley couldn't be gone. He was too young. There was too much he could do. Too much he had to offer. He couldn't just be taken like that.

It didn't seem possible I could become so attached to that smirking, lonely kid in the span of a few weeks. It was far too little time to come to love someone like a brother. Far too little time. But he was gone, and there was loss, and I could _feel _that loss in all its wrenching, twisting, painful being. And while the rain poured, and my tears soaked into my father's already soaked shoulder, and I numbed to everything except what hurt, the very idea that I _didn't_ love that kid would've been absolutely ridiculous.

A sudden flurry of movement pulled me a little closer to the moment, and I pulled away from my dad. I heard that mother scream, but it wasn't a mournful sound, and I heard her son shout.

"Ty!"

My head whipped around. A young boy stood several yards off, stumbling his way closer to the lights of the ambulance, clutching his arm. He was swarmed immediately. "Mama! Trey!"

His family ran to him, surrounded him. Crying. Wanting to hold and trying not to hurt. There were shouts. He was okay. The kid. He was okay. The kid got out.

I walked toward him. He was speaking. All his tears were in his voice, but he was remarkably calm for everything going on around him. He couldn't have been older than eight. "He's still down there. He's still…"

_Riley. _I only vaguely registered a mother and brother's joy, and a little boy's brave, urgent words. Because everyone was moving again. This had ceased to be a funeral. This was a rescue again.

_He's still alive. Riley's still alive. The boy made it out. Riley will make it out._

"The flashlight. He told me to leave the flashlight on…" That's what he said. Giving directions even as they were trying to load him into the ambulance, his eyes wide, his hand anchored to his mother's.

I started running.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

My heart was somewhere in my esophagus as I looped my arms and legs through the rungs of the ladder and waited for the inevitable. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Guess I must've thought it'd be bad. But bad's such a subjective term. Sometimes bad even means good. This was not good. Not by any stretch.

It was like getting punched by a giant.

I rocked against the side of the ladder, knocking the air out of me, the rungs digging into my arms and legs as the water tried to break my hold. Fire shot up my leg as my stitches ripped out, and I would've shouted if I could. The water was halfway up my back, and it was full of hard little pieces of junk, and I got pelted, but I guess I was lucky, too, because if any of those big chunks of concrete had hit me, I wouldn't've stood a chance.

Groaning and trying to breathe through my teeth, I clung to the ladder, and I could _feel_ the tightness in my muscles already trying to relax as fatigue and exhaustion got close, and I _fought _it, and I had no idea how long I could, and I had no idea how long it'd been. I knew pain right then. And I knew cold.

_Come on,_ I thought, and I would've said it if that'd been possible at the time. _Come on._ _People are up there. They'll find you. Fight._ And they'd save me and take me back to Ben, and he'd be so mad, and I didn't care because, even mad at me, Ben was nicer even than anyone I'd ever known who wasn't mad at me. Except my parents.

I knew pain. And I knew cold. And I knew I wanted _home_. Those three things—at the time they were all I knew.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Ben_

The flashlight was right where the little boy said it would be, looking abandoned, lying there, illuminating the heavy drops of raind that fell around it. There. Riley was there. Right there. He had to be. He was a fighter. He'd fight. He'd hang on.

My dad was next to me, jogging, keeping pace next to me, his eyes sparking with hope, and he looked young then. Younger than I'd ever seen him.

The rescue workers were converging on the spot with quick purpose, and they kept telling me to stand back, and I never did realize it until I played it back in my mind later. I went to my chest at the opening of the drain, and there was only blackness, and I screamed into the blackness, praying he'd hear me, "Riley!"

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Riley_

The water pounded me relentlessly, threatening to break my grip, suck me under, sweep me away. I couldn't even raise my head anymore; my strength was totally drained. It took everything in me just to hold on. I was so tired. Even the freezing water wasn't doing anything to lift the weights on my eyelids. If it wasn't for the fear-inducted adrenaline pumping through my body…I could have seriously fallen asleep and never known it. It would've been that easy to stop fighting. To relax. Let go. What really scared me was that my body might make that decision for me.

"Riley!" My name. I heard it. And I knew I must've been hallucinating because the voice sounded a whole lot like Ben. "Riley, are you there?"

"This is Riley," I whispered through gritted teeth, and if it had been Superman he still wouldn't have been able to hear me. The water was almost up to my armpits.

"Hang on, okay? If you're there, you have to hang on!" It couldn't be Ben, though, right? Ben didn't even know I was gone.

I heard a clang and a loud scraping, and there was shouting, but all the words got washed away.

I couldn't feel my fingers real well anymore. _A little longer. A little longer. Ben's coming. He said to hang on._ That's what I would've told me if I'd been Ben. I still wasn't sure I could really believe Ben was up there. But I knew I wanted him there, and if believing he was kept my numb fingers from giving up, I was all for it.

There was a crack and a groan as the manhole cover broke loose, little rocks and debris raining down on my head. I wanted so bad to lift my head. There was more shouting, and there were hands on me, and something got looped under my arms. Then I had a vague memory of tug-of-war in sixth grade on field day. I remembered the rope breaking. I felt like the rope.

"Riley!" I heard Ben again. There were hands on my arms. Gripping tight. Brought me to other memories that weren't good. "Let go of the ladder!"

I managed to shake my head no, and sadness washed through me. It wasn't Ben. Ben would never tell me to let go.

"I've got you, buddy. Let go! I've got you. It'll be okay. I promise." There were other voices that I didn't know, but none of them were talking to me. Just the one that sounded so much like Ben. "I _promise_, Riley! Trust me!"

I took a shallow breath. If Ben promised, it'd be okay. I prayed it was Ben. I prayed I wasn't crazy. Because if I was crazy, I was dead.

"Now! Let go now!"

And I did. And the water felt like it was sucking my skin off, and I was moving up, the harness around me going so tight it cut off my breathing completely, and the hands on my arms pulling me, never letting go. And then a moment later, there was no more water.

My feet touched solidness that wasn't part of a ladder, that wasn't underground at all. That was pretty awesome up until my legs couldn't do much in the way of holding me up. But then those hands that had been on my arms so tightly were suddenly all the way around me, holding me up, and I collapsed into somebody's chest, and I knew I should've been embarrassed, but I was too tired to be embarrassed. The arms squeezed me tight, and then there was a hand rubbing my hair. My fingers gripped onto a jacket, I guess because my brain hadn't bothered to tell them they could quit gripping yet.

The chest I was pressed against was warm and shaking a little and rumbling. "Ben?" I whispered. If I wasn't crazy then this had to be Ben. And I wasn't dead. So I couldn't be crazy.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

_Ben_

When I'd called to him and got no answer, it was like lightning in my gut. I wasn't too late. If I'd come this close and it was too late…

The cover was stuck, old dirt and gravel cementing it shut, and it took two men with crowbars to pry it loose, and all of that took precious seconds. But when I'd looked down, saw his shaggy head there, bent low, the relief hit me so strongly I nearly fell.

He wasn't responding very well, and I saw his arms trembling with the effort of fighting against those tons of water rushing past him. It took all of my strength not to try to drag him up out of there right then. To wait until they'd set up a tripod over the hole and get him harnessed to it. Then I got in there. I'm sure there were protests from the uniforms. If there were, I don't remember them.

When we pulled him out, I held on. Desperately. I got him up in my arms, and I held him tight, crying all over him because he was _alive_, though I don't think he noticed the tears right then. All my fears, all my grief, all that sorrow…it was overwhelming as it flowed out of me while I took all the reassurance I could get from the close contact with the kid I'd been so sure I'd never see again on this earth. _Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you._

He held on with a surprisingly tight grip. "Ben?" he asked, like he had to make sure.

I laughed a short, hysterical laugh. "Yeah, buddy. I'm here. I got you."

He let out a rattly-sounding sigh and burrowed his face into my chest. "Knew it," he murmured.

* * *

A/N: Hey everybody! Thanks ever and always to all you reviewers and PMers who never fail to make my day with the sweetness of your...sweetness! Just wanted to let you know that all the encouragement and kindness have fueled a little endeaver I've been working on the past several months. I just finished a YA novel I've been writing with my mom, and we sent it off to an agent to see if anything comes of it. I'm super excited. It's a brother story--what else, right? ::grin:: I'm trying to get a website together to post any updates with how that's going for anybody who's interested. ::second grin::

Also, I'm thinking at least two more chapters on this guy. Riley and Ben and Patrick definitely still have an issue or two. Not to mention, what the heck happened in Riley's past? Oh, I'm not quite finished with them yet. I'm almost sad to see this story wrapping up, actually. It's been so much fun. Then again...it's probably (way past) time. Heh. So yeah. Now that I finished that other project, I should have some time to devote to the fanfic world. I've got some other story ideas I've been wanting to dive into, too. Oh, fanfic. How I've missed thee.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter, Reader. Onward to the next!

Blessings!


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